TALES 

OF  A 

PATHFINDER 


A.  L.  WESTGARD 


O       IP 


A.  L.  WESTGARD 

Field  Representative,  American   Automobile   Association, 

Vice-President  and  Director  Transcontinental  Highways, 

National  Highways  Association 


TALES 

OF  A 

PATHFINDER 


/° 

£  L.  WESTGARD 


PRICE  ONE  DOLLAR  AND  A  HALF 


PUBLISHED  BY 

A.  L.  WESTGARD 

501  FIFTH  AVE.  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT  1920 
BY  A.  L.  WESTGARD 

Published,  March  1920 


PRESS  OF 

ANDREW  B.  GRAHAM  CO. 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C- 


Bancroft  Library 


To  my  wife,  who  has  shared  with  me  the 
hardships  as  well  as  the  pleasures  of  the  trail, 
ever  a  cheerful  comrade  and  a  trusty  adviser. 


Foreword 

THE  story  of  the  highways  is  the  story  of 
mankind,  whether  in  a  state  of  barbarism  or 
of  civilization.  The  movement  of  primitive 
peoples  has  been  by  waterways  and  land-routes 
which,  following  lines  of  least  resistance,  often 
appropriated  the  trails  made  by  wild  animals. 
The  movements  of  civilized  men  likewise  followed 
the  least  resistive  lines  with  the  result  that  the  great 
railways  and  the  National  highways  coincide  with 
the  game-trails  and  the  Indian  paths  of  long  ago. 

The  ascent  of  man  has  been  in  direct  ratio  to  the 
progress  that  has  been  made  in  the  speed,  safety, 
comfort  and  convenience  of  the  movement  of  men 
and  goods  from  one  place  to  another. 

The  wheel  is  the  emblem  of  human  progress. 
The  supreme  evolution  of  the  wheel  is  the  auto- 
mobile. 

Already  six  and  a  half  million  automobiles  are 
daily  employed  in  speeding  a  third  of  the  population 
of  the  United  States  along  their  way  with  the 
demand  increasing  so  rapidly  that  the  factories  are 
unable  to  meet  it. 

Every  intelligent  citizen  in  the  United  States 
knows  that  the  next  big  job  for  America  now  that 
the  war  is  over  is  to  construct  road  beds  as  perfectly 
adapted  to  the  economic  operation  thereon  of  motor 
vehicles  as  the  road  bed  of  the  railway  is  adapted 
to  the  use  thereon  of  its  rolling  stock.  The  two 
and  a  half  million  miles  of  roads  in  the  United 
States  will  be  made  modern  highways  as  rapidly  as 


the  work  can  be  financed  and  the  men  and  material 
secured  for  the  purpose.  The  strength  of  the 
States  and  the  counties  will  be  put  forth  in  increas- 
ing measure  until  this  result  is  secured.  The 
Federal  Government  has  already  placed  the  zero 
milestone  in  Washington  to  designate  the  point 
from  which  a  system  of  National  highways  will 
extend  clear  to  the  surf-beat  of  the  Pacific  and  from 
lands  of  snow  to  lands  of  sun.  The  Federal 
Government,  the  States  and  the  Counties  are 
working  out  a  system  of  National,  State  and  County 
highways,  the  most  important  of  which  will  be  the 
first  improved.  The  creation  of  such  a  system  of 
highways  will  do  more  for  the  welfare  and  advance- 
ment of  the  people  of  the  United  States,  more  for 
the  unity,  security,  development  and  glory  of  the 
Nation  than  could  possibly  be  accomplished  by  a 
like  expenditure  of  money  and  energy  in  any  other 
line  of  endeavor. 

If  this  be  true,  what  is  the  measure  of  the  debt 
of  gratitude  which  the  public  owes  to  the  apostles 
of  better  roads  and  to  the  men  who  have  pioneered 
the  ways  that  are  now  to  become  the  great 
National  Thoroughfares.  Among  the  latter,  chief 
indeed  of  the  Pathfinders,  is  the  author  of  this 
volume,  A.  L.  Westgard.  The  year  1903  saw  him 
driving  his  first  car  on  the  roads  of  New  York. 
Since  then  he  has  been  the  constant  explorer  of  the 
ways  that  lead  from  east  to  west,  from  north  to 
south,  inspecting,  mapping,  publishing,  making  men 
know  and  appreciate  what  a  country  this  is;  urging 
the  delights  of  the  open  road  and  the  life  of  the 
great  out  doors.  Almost  all  of  the  more  than  forty 
great  highways  along  lines  of  latitude  and  longi- 
tude follow  the  trail  of  his  pathfinding  car — or 
cars — for  he  has  worn  out  eighteen  cars  in  this 


work.     His  services  in  this  interest  have  made  him 
a  benefactor  of  humanity. 

If,  as  I  believe,  the  most  important  fact  for 
Americans  is  America,  the  main  part  in  the  educa- 
tion of  an  American  citizen  is  to  know  America. 
This  book  is  a  direct  contribution  to  this  end. 

DR.  S.  M.  JOHNSON. 
March,  1920. 
Roswell,  New  Mexico, 
and  Washington,  D.  C. 


By  VPay  of  Explanation 

THE    days    of    the    pathfinder    of    motor-car 
routes  are  about  over.     With  few  exceptions 
the  routes  that  may  become  trunk-line  high- 
ways  are   already   beaten   paths   of   known   quality 
and   future   work   in   connection    with    routes   will 
concentrate  on  improving  surface  conditions. 

It  has  been  contended  that  the  pathfinder's  work 
of  the  past  has  been  an  important  factor  in  the 
development  of  the  good  roads  movement  and 
consequently  of  the  automobile  and  allied  indus- 
tries, and  it  is  in  response  to  frequent  urgings  of 
my  many  friends  within  these  industries  that  this 
book  was  written. 

The  illustrations  are  mostly  intended  to  show  the 
difficulties  encountered  in  motor-car  pathfinding  of 
the  past,  before  the  advent  in  any  considerable 
measure  of  the  Good  Roads  movement,  largely 
founded  on  the  pathfinder's  work. 

A.  L.  WESTGARD. 


Chapters 


PAGE 

THE  TRUNDLE  WHEEL 13 

THE  DESERT  TRAMP 17 

OPTIMISM        21 

THE  Cow  AND  THE  ROUTE  BOOK    .    . 24 

MAROONED       26 

A  MODERN  NOAH'S  ARK 30 

No  GASOLINE — AND  YET 33 

FRENCHMAN'S    STATION 37 

FACULTY  OF  ORIENTATION 41 

YUMA   BORDER 46 

A  MORMAN  DANCE 47 

A  MEXICAN  WEDDING 48 

THE   YUMA    MUMMY 49 

NOTORIOUS       51 

THE  PADRE'S  PROPHESY 55 

PESKY    PESTS 57 

GOOD  FELLOWS 60 

SALADITO 64 

PRICE  CANYON 68 

PAN,  MY  PAL 74 

CLOSE    CONNECTION 79 

DEADLY    FIGURES 82 

THE  BLACK  RIVER  CROSSING 84 

JUST  FROGS 89 

DIAMONDBACKS        91 

THE  TOP  OF  THE  CASCADES 94 

IN  THE  BIGHORNS 101 

PHOTOGRAPHING   THE   RED   MAN 106 

AMERICANS    ALL Ill 

11 


PAGE 

SOME    "HOTELS" 118 

LOST — BUT  RECOVERED 122 

THE  UN-NAMED  PASS 124 

OUR  NATIONAL  PARKS 128 

THE  FORAGE  STATIONS 133 

FOREST  FIRES 137 

A  CLOSE  CALL 141 

INDIAN    SLOUGH 145 

THE  GOSPEL  AND  GOOD  ROADS 150 

KICKING  UP  THE  DUST  OF  AGES 153 

SECTIONAL   RIVALRY 159 

OUT    WEST 166 

CONVICT  LABOR 169 

AT  THE  GRAND  CANYON     .     .     .     ; 173 

HAZING    THE    LORD 175 

COLORADO  MUTTON 177 

THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  DESERT 178 

QUEEN    VICTORIA 181 

TICKLING   THE    CARBURETOR 182 

'WARE   HANDSHAKING 183 

PROSPECTORS 184 

SHARP  SHOOTING 187 

A  TOWN'S  DISGRACE .    .  189 

GATES 192 

HISTORIC   MARKERS 195 

GENTLEMEN  OF  THE   PRESS 197 

BAD    INTENTIONS 199 

THE   SANDSTORM 201 

SNIPING    GRINGOES 204 

THE  PADRE   TYPOGRAPHERS 206 

TEXAS   THE  GREAT 208 

A    TIGHT    SQUEEZE 212 

APPENDIX        215 

12 


The  Trundle  Wheel 

WHEN  I  was  a  young  man,  I  was  employed 
by  a  publishing  house  engaged  in  issuing 
State,  county  and  city  atlases  and  maps 
all  over  the  United  States.  In  the  county  atlases 
the  maps  covered  towns  or  townships  and  villages. 
The  property  dimensions  along  country  roads,  espe- 
cially in  the  Eastern  States,  where  the  section  system 
of  dividing  land  into  units  of  a  mile  square  did  not 
prevail,  were  obtained  by  the  use  of  the  so-called 
trundle  wheel.  This  consisted  of  a  large,  very  light 
wooden  wheel,  with  two  long  handles  reaching  from 
the  hub,  and  by  the  means  of  these  the  contrivance 
was  pushed  along  country  roads.  The  diameter  of 
the  wheel  was  about  five  feet.  The  revolutions  of 
the  wheel  were  measured  on  an  odometer  at  the 
hub,  and  the  circumference  in  feet  multiplied  by  the 
number  of  revolutions  of  the  wheel  would  give  the 
distance  covered  between  points.  On  the  handles 
was  fastened  a  plane-table  with  compass  attached, 
to  get  the  proper  bearings  of  the  road  at  bends  and 
turns. 

While  the  trundle  wheel  may  seem  a  crude  con- 
trivance it  worked  with  great  accuracy,  but  it  was 
no  lazy  man's  job  to  push  it  along  from  twenty  to 
thirty  miles  a  day  and  work  out  the  bearings,  mark 
the  property  lines,  their  lengths  and  courses,  as  well 
as  the  location  of  the  houses  along  the  road,  on  the 
map  on  the  plane-table,  besides  stopping  to  get  the 
name  of  the  owner  of  each  property.  I  have  cov- 
ered thousands  of  miles  footing  it  along  country 
roads  in  this  manner  and  this  was  my  initiation  into 

13 


14 


THE   TRUNDLE    WHEEL 


pathfinding  work.  The  wide  scope  of  the  work  also 
gave  me  a  rather  intimate  knowledge  of  roads  and 
soil  conditions  in  many  widely  separated  sections  of 
the  country.  This  knowledge  was  further  amplified 
upon  the  arrival  of  the  pneumatic-tired  bicycle, 
which,  as  the  railroads  did  to  the  canals,  superseded 
the  trundle  wheel  and  relegated  it  to  a  historic  past. 
Then  followed  the  automobile.  While  in  the 
early  days  of  motordom  as  much  time  was  probably 
spent  under  the  car  tinkering  as  in  the  driver's  seat, 
the  trundle  wheel  in  comparison  to  the  modern 
automobile  is  as  the  prehistoric  ruins  in  our  South- 


The  towering  red  sandstone  rocks   in   Glen   Eyrie,  near 
Colorado  Springs,  Colo.,  assume  many  grotesque  shapes, 
as  the  central  pinnacle  in  this  picture,  which  is  appro- 
priately called  "The  Judge" 

west  compared  to  modern  city  skyscrapers.  From 
the  trundle  wheel  to  the  bicycle  and  to  the  auto- 
mobile I  used  progressively  the  means  at  hand  and 
seem  to  have  grown  into  pathfinding  work.  It  has 


THE  TRUNDLE  WHEEL  15 

been  very  interesting  work  too.  The  preparation 
of  dependable  route  maps  all  over  the  United  States 
has  in  no  small  measure  helped  in  their  development 
and  the  desire  to  travel  over  them.  The  main 
routes  have  by  reason  of  their  known  quality  as  first 
learned  through  the  medium  of  the  pathfinder's 
work  become  the  standardized  routes  of  today.  The 
travel  induced  over  certain  main  lines,  as  a  conse- 
quence of  the  work  of  the  pioneer  pathfinder,  has 
in  turn  caused  improvements  running  into  the  hun- 
dreds of  millions  of  dollars,  to  be  followed  by  bil- 
lions of  more  dollars  as  time  rolls  on.  The  path- 
finder's work,  beginning  with  the  trundle  wheel, 
will  thus  be  seen  to  have  been  the  very  foundation 
stone,  the  very  first  beginning  of  the  good-roads 
movement  which  now  has  taken  such  an  impetus 
that  unquestionably  a  system  of  nationally  built 
and  maintained  highways  will  be  constructed  as  a 


Many  of  these  picturesque,  castellated  formations  of  shale 
and   clay,   border  the   main  route   in  southern    Wyoming 


16  THE  TRUNDLE  WHEEL 

framework  for  the  thousands  of  miles  of  roads 
which  will  be  built  by  states  and  counties  to  sup- 
plement them  as  feeders. 

I  feel  no  small  pride  for  having  had  the  privilege 
and  opportunity  to  help  in  the  pioneer  pathfinding 
work  which  has  borne  such  magnificent  fruit. 
While  I  am  now  counted  the  veteran  of  the  guild 
I  am  as  keenly  as  ever  watching  the  development 
along  all  the  main  trunk  lines  of  the  country  and 
doing  my  humble  share  in  helping  to  keep  up  the 
interest  in  sections  where  lethargy  may  show  too 
healthy  signs.  Incidentally  I  count  the  year  lost 
that  I  cannot  personally  inspect  the  progress  of 
work  on  at  least  two  of  the  standard  transconti- 
nental lines.  Eighteen  transcontinental  trips  and 
more  than  that  many  between  the  North  and  South 
boundaries  of  the  United  States  on  rubber  tires  are 
behind  me  and  I  am  still  going. 


The  Desert  Tramp 

WE  LEFT  Yuma  one  bright  morning  to  in- 
spect the  route  up  the  Gila  Valley,  which 
is  now  distinguished  beyond  that  of  any 
other  in  the  United  States,  because  in  spite  of  its 
desert  character,  it  is  an  important  link  in  four  dis- 
tinct Transcontinental  routes,  viz. :  the  Dixie  Over- 
land Highway,  the  Bankhead  Highway,  the  South- 
ern National  Highway  and  the  Old  Spanish  Trail, 
besides  figuring  as  a  link  in  the  Borderland  Trail. 

However,  at  the  time  of  our  trip  here  concerned 
none  of  these  promotions  had  been  conceived  and, 
as  then  there  was  no  bridge  across  the  Gila  River 
at  Antelope  Hill,  it  was  necessary  to  ferry  or  ford 
across  the  Gila  at  Dome  Station  and  follow  a  rather 
uncertain  desert  trail  via  Castle  Dome  and  Middle 
Well,  joining  the  route  as  now  laid  out  at  Las 
Palomas.  We  had  expected  to  reach  Aguas 
Calientes,  where  there  were  primitive  accommoda- 
tions for  travelers,  before  dark,  but  owing  to  very 
rough  and  chucky  trail  between  Yuma  and  Dome 
and  some  slow  going  near  Middle  Well  darkness 
overtook  us  before  we  reached  Las  Palomas. 

As  we  had  no  commissary  we  decided  to  push  on 
to  Aguas  Calientes  in  spite  of  the  lateness  of  the 
hour.  The  country  was  dotted  with  giant  Saguaro 
cactus  and  creosote  bushes  which  took  on  all  sorts 
of  weird  shapes  in  the  glare  of  our  acetylene  head- 
lights. About  ten  o'clock  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
saw  some  moving  object  far  ahead  and  thought  it 
was  probably  a  skulking  coyote,  but  as  we  forged 
ahead  our  headlights  picked  up  a  man  walking 
towards  us  along  the  dim  path. 

17 


18  THE  DESERT  TRAMP 

As  the  spot  was  miles  from  any  habitation  it  was 
hard  to  believe  one's  eyes,  as  certainly  no  sane  person 
would  brave  this  barren  and  desolate  arid  country 
on  a  mere  hike.  That  would  be  gambling  with 
death  in  too  reckless  a  fashion.  As  we  drew  near 
we  noticed  that  the  man  was  weaving  sideways  or 
stumbling  ahead  like  a  drunken  person.  He  even- 
tually stopped  as  we  were  a  couple  of  hundred  feet 
distant  and  fell  prone  on  the  ground. 

On  reaching  him  I  jumped  off  the  car  and  bent 
over  his  prostrate  body  and  only  then  realized  that 
here  was  one  of  those  terrible  cases  where  a  human 
had  almost  succumbed  to  the  grasp  of  the  desert. 
He  was  about  all  in  from  thirst.  Filling  a  cup 
from  our  canvass  water  bag  I  fed  water  to  him  a 
drop  at  a  time  and  as  he  gradually  regained 
strength  had  to  use  physical  force  to  prevent  him 
from  gulping  down  the  entire  contents  of  the  cup 
at  one  draught.  The  wonder  of  a  few  drops  of  the 
life-giving  fluid! 

Very  gradually  increasing  the  dose  of  water  ad- 
ministered at  a  few  minutes  interval  he  was  in  an 
hour's  time  able  to  sit  up  and  eat  a  few  crackers 
which  were  found  in  our  lunch  box.  He  was  a 
sorry  individual  indeed,  unkempt,  blear-eyed,  and 
very  poorly  clad.  He  carried  an  ordinary  empty 
beer  bottle  tied  with  a  string  to  his  waist  but  had 
no  bundle  of  clothing  nor  anything  containing  food. 

Eventually  he  was  strong  enough  to  give  us  his 
story  or  at  least  what  was  purported  to  be  his  story. 
Three  days  previously  he  had  left  Las  Palomas, 
which  by  the  way  was  only  some  ten  miles  distant, 
in  search  of  a  prospector's  camp  which  he  had  been 
told  was  only  a  dozen  miles  away  at  the  side  of  a 


THE  DESERT  TRAMP  19 

mountain  plainly  visible  from  Las  Palomas.  It 
may  be  well  to  state  here  that  Las  Palomas  is  not 
a  settlement  but  merely  a  desert  trading  store  cater- 
ing to  the  occasional  prospectors  who  with  their 
outfits  and  burros  roam  over  the  desert  in  search 
of  the  El  Dorado  which  is  always  expected  to  be 
discovered  tomorrow.  He  had  failed  to  locate  the 
camp  and  had  utterly  lost  his  sense  of  orientation, 
wandering  haphazardly  about  without  knowing 
where  he  was  headed.  He  had  had  nothing  to  eat 
since  leaving  Las  Palomas  and  only  the  one  pint 
bottle  of  water  while  his  suffering  from  the  daytime 
heat  of  the  desert  was,  if  anything,  only  increased 
by  the  cold  of  the  nights  which  penetrated  his  poorly 
clad  body. 

In  spite  of  his  terrible  experience   and   narrow 
escape  from  madness  and  probable  death  he  insisted 


The  sandy  trail  through  the  lower  Gila  Valley  desert, 
Arizona,  can  hardly  be  called  a  boulevard,  in  spite  of 
which  motor  cars  negotiate  it  "somehow."  Some  day 
there  will  be  a  real  highway  constructed  through  this 
section 


20  THE  t>ESERT  TRAMP 

that  he  would  continue  his  search  for  the  camp  if 
we  would  only  fill  his  bottle  with  water.  Whether 
this  was  an  example  of  foolhardiness  or  grit,  or 
possibly  fear  of  civilization  with  its  officers  of  law  I 
do  not  know,  but  no  amount  of  persuasion  on  our 
part  could  induce  him  to  abandon  his  intentions. 

After  teaching  him  to  find  the  north  star  and 
indicating  the  exact  direction  of  Las  Palomas  we 
filled  his  waterbottle,  presented  him  with  our  can- 
teen full  of  the  precious  moisture,  and  as  we  cranked 
up  our  car  to  proceed  he  snuggled  under  a  creosote 
bush  for  a  nap. 

Ever  since  that  day  I  have  often  wondered  if  we 
saved  his  life  only  to  have  him  lose  it  possibly  in 
some  remote  canyon  of  that  wonderfully  fascinat- 
ing desert  country  or  if  he  found  his  camp,  helped 
to  work  the  riches  from  the  ground  and  today  is 
possibly  one  of  those  who  enjoy  the  prosperity  in 
some  large  city,  which  his  evident  education  clearly 
fitted  him  to  appreciate  under  happier  circumstances. 


Optimism 

IN  TRACING  the  Midland  Trail,  now  the 
Roosevelt  National  Highway,  across  the 
United  States,  we  passed  through  Western 
Kansas  in  the  month  of  July  during  a  time  of  ter- 
rible drought.  Truly  this  was  a  benighted  country 
that  season.  First  the  grasshoppers,  or  "hoppers" 
as  the  settlers  call  them,  had  eaten  every  green  leaf 
in  the  cornfields,  which  only  a  week  or  two  pre- 
vious had  by  their  fine  stand  aroused  such  glowing 
hopes  of  a  bounteous  harvest,  leaving  only  the  bare 
stalks  and  making  the  fields  look  as  though  some 
crazy  person  had  raised  a  crop  of  beanpoles. 

On  top  of  this  came  one  of  those  dreaded  hot 
winds  out  of  the  north  which  feels  like  a  blast  out 
of  a  furnace  and  wither  all  growing  things  to  wilted 
shreds  in  a  few  days.  Then  the  grasshoppers  re- 
turned and  as  there  was  nothing  else  left  finished 
the  job  by  eating  the  cornstalks,  which  they  had 
scorned  on  their  first  visit  when  green  vegetation 
was  plentiful.  These  insects  would  fly  in  swarms 
and  would  soon  become  plastered  on  the  front  of 
the  radiator  of  our  car  in  such  numbers  as  to  pre- 
vent the  fan  from  drawing  air  through  it  and  neces- 
sitated frequent  stops  to  scrape  their  charred  bodies 
off  with  a  stick.  Besides  our  windshield  had  to 
have  frequent  cleaning  of  the  juices  of  their  bat- 
tered bodies  as  we  met  in  head-on  collisions.  When 
one  hit  us  in  the  face  the  force  of  the  impact  would 
cause  considerable  pain  as  though  we  were  hit  by  a 
pebble. 

As  may  readily  be  imagined  the  appearance  of 

21 


22  OPTIMISM 


The  prairie   schooner,   no<w  fast  disappearing   from   the 
plains  country,  being  superseded  by  the  rapid  and  prac- 
tical modern  motor  car,  was  a  frequent  sight  along  the 
pathfinder's  trail  a  few  years  ago 

the  country  looked  so  hopeless  and  dispiriting  as  to 
make  one  wonder  why  anyone  had  ever  had  the 
temerity  and  courage  to  ever  settle  there  or  at  least 
to  continue  living  in  a  region  where  fortune  could 
ordinarily  be  counted  on  to  favor  one  with  her 
smiles  only  once  in  five  or  six  years.  With  these 
thoughts  in  mind  I  stopped  at  one  of  the  homesteads 
which  seemed  if  possible  more  afflicted  and  utterly 
barren  than  the  rest. 

A  man  came  out  on  the  porch  followed  by  a 
woman  who,  from  natural  curiosity  to  know  what 
the  strangers  wanted,  came  to  the  door  to  listen  to 
the  conversation.  In  place  of  wobegone  expression 
of  despair  I  was  certainly  rather  taken  aback  by  the 
genial  good-natured  smile  which  met  my  greetings. 
After  a  few  remarks  about  the  proposed  highway  I 
cautiously  offered  my  sympathy  about  the  hardships 
incident  on  the  failure  of  the  crops.  Instead  of 
receiving  in  return  a  long  tale  of  woe  the  farmer 


OPTIMISM 


23 


passed  it  off  as  a  matter  of  only  passing  moment, 
maintaining  that  they  were  pretty  sure  to  get  one 
good  crop  in  five  and  that  the  one  good  crop  every 
fifth  year  brought  larger  net  returns  than  five 
mediocre  crops  in  the  East  and  he  thanked  his  God 
that  he  was  not  cramped  by  too  close  neighbors — 
and  in  fact  he  was  glad  he  lived  in  God's  country, 
viz.:  Western  Kansas.  An  opinion  to  which  his 
good  wife  nodded  a  smiling  agreement. 

If  there  is  a  more  sunny  optimist  on  the  face  of 
this  green  earth  than  a  West  Kansas  farmer  I  would 
like  to  meet  him. 


All  set  for  the  pioneer  trip,  in  1907,  over  the  now  famous 
"Ideal  Tour"  of  the  New  England  States 


The  Cow  and  the  Route  Book 

THE  NEXT  year  after  I  laid  out  the  "Ideal 
Tour"  of  New  England  a  general  publicity 
tour  over  the  route  was  organized  and  sev- 
eral of  the  automobile  editors  of  the  New  York 
daily  papers  were  invited  to  take  part  in  the  junket. 
There  were  some  twenty  cars  in  the  caravan  and 
everything  went  well  with  everybody  enjoying  the 
beautiful  country  and  the  good  hotels  even  though 
in  those  early  days  before  the  era  of  paved  high- 
ways the  roads  failed  to  come  up  to  their  present 
standard  of  excellence. 

At  one  particularly  scenic  spot  in  New  Hamp- 
shire a  stop  was  made  by  the  roadside  in  order  to 
allow  everyone  the  opportunity  to  enjoy  the  won- 
derful view,  and  a  couple  of  the  newspaper  men 
strolled  along  the  road  a  little  way.  One  of  these 
men  was  known  for  his  droll  sayings  and  dry  wit, 
the  kind  that  is  uttered  without  the  suspicion  of  a 
smile  though  it  generally  brought  a  roar  of  appre- 
ciation from  those  that  heard  his  witty  words. 

A  short  way  down  the  road  these  two  men  noted 
a  farmer  just  across  the  fence  struggling  to  tie  a 
board  in  front  of  a  cow's  face,  a  performance  that 
was  difficult  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  poor  bovine 
had  no  horns  to  which  to  fasten  the  board.  The 
other  newspaper  man,  not  the  witty  one,  was  a  city- 
bred  chap  and  immediately  wanted  to  know  from 
the  farmer  why  he  attempted  to  practice  such 
cruelty  on  his  cow,  the  most  useful  animal  on  earth. 
In  fact  he  grew  quite  irate  and  upbraided  the  farmer 
rather  severely.  After  listening  in  silence  for  a 

24 


THE   COW  AND  THE   ROUTE    BOOK 


25 


while  to  this  tirade  the  farmer  informed  him  that 
it  was  necessary  to  tie  the  board  in  front  of  the 
cow's  eyes  in  order  to  prevent  her  from  seeing  and 
thus  finding  weak  spots  in  the  fence  through  which 
to  make  her  way  into  the  neighbor's  fields  and 
damage  the  crops  growing  there. 

This  true  and  reasonable  answer  seemed  to  sat- 
isfy the  humane  newspaperman  when  our  droll  wit 
pulled  one  of  the  route-information  books,  which 
were  universally  used  in  those  days,  out  of  his  pocket 
and  handing  it  to  the  farmer  said  most  seriously: 
"The  board  is  cruelty  to  animals.  Tie  this  to  her 
neck  and  if  she  can  find  her  way  anywhere  with 
that  she  deserves  a  feed  in  your  neighbor's  field," 
then  turned  on  his  heel  and  without  a  trace  of  a 
smile  returned  to  the  waiting  cars. 


In  the  early  days  of  motor  route  pathfinding  New  Eng- 
land roads  were  not  paved  though  perfectly  adequate  for 
horsedraivn    traffic 


Marooned 

WHILE  making  the  original  survey  of  the 
Northwest  Trail,  later  called  the  National 
Parks  Highway,  we  left  New  York  in  the 
middle  of  June  and  arrived  at  Glendive  in  the  Yel- 
lowstone River  Valley  in  Montana  with  fair  speed, 
after  some  rather  painful  experiences  with  North 
Dakota  mosquitoes,  as  related  in  another  chapter, 
and  after  crossing  the  Little  Missouri  river  at 
Medora,  N.  D.,  on  the  railroad  bridge.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  Medora  is  the  little  town  at  the 
edge  of  the  "Bad-lands"  where  Col.  Theodore 
Roosevelt  punched  cattle  when  a  young  man  and 
incidentally  received  the  inspiration  to  write  of  the 
West. 

As  we  proceeded  up  the  Yellowstone  Valley, 
along  the  historic  path  of  many  a  doughty  pioneer, 
trapper,  Indian  and  soldier  we  learned  of  floods  in 
the  upper  reaches  of  the  river,  caused  by  the  melt- 
ing snows  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Having  had 
a  rather  hazardous  experience  in  crossing  the  Pow- 
der River,  as  told  elsewhere,  we  pitched  camp  one 
night  at  a  ranch  house,  which  was  located  on  a  knoll 
near  the  lonesome  station  of  Zero.  There  \vas 
more  than  irony  in  that  name. 

When  we  awoke  next  morning  we  were  located 
on  an  island,  the  knoll  being  entirely  surrounded  by 
floodwater  from  the  river  which  flowed  nearby. 
The  rancher  assured  us  that  there  was  no  cause 
for  apprehension  as  he  had  had  this  experience  in 
June  every  year  of  the  three  years  he  had  lived  there 
and  that  the  water  would  subside  in  a  couple  of 
26 


MAROONED  27 

days  at  the  most.  In  the  meantime  the  water  was 
still  rising  and  our  island  gradually  growing  smaller 
while  the  shores  seemed  to  grow  more  distant 
hourly. 

However  we  felt  reassured  by  the  rancher's  con- 
fidence and  proceeded  to  have  as  good  a  time  as  the 
circumstances  would  allow.  As  our  commissary 
was  practically  empty  when  we  reached  this  locality, 
it  having  been  our  intention  to  replenish  it  at  Miles 
City,  we  were  dependent  on  the  rancher  and  his 
good  wife  for  meals  and  we  were  very  hospitably 
made  to  feel  that  we  were  welcome  to  share  what- 
ever their  larder  afforded.  The  continual  rising  of 
the  water  caused  us  considerable  anxiety  and  I  noted 
that  the  rancher  was  not  altogether  easy  in  his 
mind.  Near  dusk  it  seemed  that  the  flood  had 
about  reached  the  peak  and  though  our  island  by 
that  time  seemed  mighty  small  we  retired  for  the 
night  with  the  feeling  that  it  would  have  grown  to 
much  greater  size  by  morning.  In  this  expectation 
we  found  ourselves  disappointed  when  daylight 
revealed  about  the  same  condition  as  the  night 
before. 

All  day  we  watched  the  flood  racing  by  carrying 
trees,  logs,  sheds  and  small  houses  and  by  night 
time  there  seemed  to  be  no  appreciable  diminution 
in  the  stage  of  the  water.  We  had  by  then  become 
so  used  to  the  idea  of  being  marooned  that  the 
familiarity  with  the  strange  and  fascinating  spec- 
tacle of  the  raging  waters,  as  well  as  with  the  pos- 
sible danger  of  our  situation,  had  in  some  degree 
blunted  our  fears.  The1  following  morning  the 
waters  were  a  trifle  higher  than  the  night  before, 
our  island  was  now  not  over  an  acre  in  extent. 


28 


MAROONED 


While  eating  breakfast  at  the  ranch  house  that 
morning  I  got  the  impression  that  it  seemed  com- 
paratively scant  in  volume  and  the  housewife  evi- 
denced considerable  anxiety  while  serving  us.  How- 
ever these  manifestations  were  not  sufficiently  pro- 
nounced to  leave  a  lasting  remembrance  and  were 
soon  forgotten  in  the  more  important  business  of 
watching  the  flood.  On  the  fourth  day  the  waters 
showed  only  a  barely  appreciable  diminution  and 
the  housewife  confessed  to  being  out  of  flour  for 
bread,  the  flood  having  caught  them  just  as  they 
were  about  to  lay  in  a  new  supply  of  food  of  various 
kinds,  which  had  in  fact  reached  the  railroad  sta- 
tion but  had  not  yet  been  hauled  home. 

The  situation  now  became  more  serious  as  there 
was  no  other  food  available  except  some  chickens 
and  three  or  four  turkeys.  On  the  seventh  day  the 


Montana   "coulees"   often   have  soft   oozy   bottoms.      The 
coivpony,  by  aid  of  a  lariat  connecting  the  saddle  horn 
with  the  front  axle,  brought  our  car  out  of  this  predica- 
ment in  a  jiffy 


MAROONED  29 

chickens  were  all  eaten  and  how  we  did  hate 
chickens,  fried,  stewed  or  otherwise  prepared,  by 
the  time  the  last  was  consumed.  After  the  first 
turkey  things  seemed  indeed  dark,  just  fowl  with- 
out potatoes,  bread  or  biscuits,  became  as  bad  as 
the  proverbial  mule  of  civil  war  time  when  the 
choice  in  some  army  camps  rested  between  fried, 
roasted,  stewed  or  jerked  mule  days  on  end. 

To  our  great  relief  and  pleasant  surprise  we  had 
on  the  tenth  day  for  breakfast  a  dish  of  delicious 
white  meat  which  seemed  exceedingly  palatable  after 
the  continuous  diet  of  fowl.  Our  curiosity  was 
intense  to  know  what  it  was  and  whence  it  came. 
After  much  persuasion  the  rancher  told  us  he  had 
been  lucky  enough  to  catch  a  couple  of  prairie  dogs, 
which  had  been  driven  out  of  their  flooded  under- 
ground apartment,  and  wasn't  it  lucky?  Well, 
maybe  it  was,  but  the  expression  on  the  faces  of  us 
three  Fasteners  did  not  seem  to  indicate  that  we 
appreciated  our  luck.  Especially  my  wife  seemed 
to  show  an  utter  lack  of  appreciation  of  this  good 
fortune  if  one  could  judge  by  the  wobegone  expres- 
sion on  her  face. 

We  were  marooned  on  this  Robinson  Crusoe 
island  sixteen  days  in  all,  and  eventually  after 
arduous  struggles  across  soggy  river  flats  succeeded 
in  piloting  our  car  into  Miles  City.  And  it  may  be 
believed  that  bread  and  butter  and  coffee  and  pie, 
and  then  some  more  bread  and  butter,  tasted  like 
the  manna  and  ambrosia  of  the  Gods!  And  then 
to  top  it  all  off — a  pipe  of  blissful  smoke.  Chickens, 
offered  in  any  style  whatsoever,  had  no  attraction 
for  us  for  several  years  after. 


A  Modern  Noah's  Ark 

ON  ONE  occasion  while  inspecting  the  route 
which  later  became  the  famous  River-to- 
River  road  across  Iowa,  we  failed  on 
account  of  slow  and  heavy  going,  to  reach  the  town 
where  we  had  planned  to  spend  the  night,  and  as 
my  car  always,  even  nowadays  when  en  route,  car- 
ries a  camping  outfit,  we  pulled  into  a  school-house 
yard  to  pitch  camp  for  the  night.  As  there  usually 
is  good  drinking  water,  a  supply  of  wood  and  other 
conveniences  available  in  country  school-house  yards, 
they  were  and  are  now  favorite  camping  places  in 
the  West  and  this  particular  yard  was  especially 
inviting  because  it  was  level  and  smooth  and  was 
carpeted  with  a  thick  even  crop  of  grass. 

After  having  erected  the  tent  and  sitting  down 
to  our  supper  a  boy  came  riding  into  the  yard,  made 
a  tour  of  inspection  and  disappeared  down  the  road 
at  a  lively  gallop. 

Shortly  he  reappeared  accompanied  by  a  team 
hauling  an  immense  wagon  built  like  a  house,  with 
doors  and  curtained  windows  and  painted  gaily  like 
a  gypsie  wagon,  also  by  another  smaller  wagon  be- 
hind which  a  cow  was  tied  with  a  short  rope.  This 
caravan  pulled  into  the  yard  and  stopped  a  few 
feet  from  our  camp.  Shortly  the  most  wonderful 
collection  of  animate  things  appeared.  Besides  the 
four  horses  and  the  cow  there  came  from  those 
wagons  two  hogs,  two  goats,  four  geese,  three 
ducks,  a  half  dozen  chickens,  six  dogs  of  various 
sizes  and  breeds,  a  cat,  a  monkey  and  a  parrot,  in 
fact  the  wagon  proved  a  veritable  Noah's  Ark. 

30 


A  MODERN   NOAH'S  ARK  31 

After  stretching  their  cramped  limbs  these  various 
species  of  the  animal  kingdom  proceeded  to  inspect 
the  premises  and  showed  a  special  fondness  for  in- 
specting our  camp  and  its  equipment.  The  boss  of 
this  outfit  was  a  tremendous  giant  of  a  woman  who 
assured  us  that  her  animals  were  merely  curious 
and  asked  us  not  to  mind  them,  which  advice  was 
easier  to  give  than  to  follow.  The  squawk  of  ducks, 
hissing  of  geese,  crowing  of  cocks,  grunting  of  hogs, 
barking  of  dogs  and  chattering  of  the  parrot  and 
the  monkey  furnished  a  veritable  bedlam  of  noises 
while  the  woman,  her  male  hired  hand  and  the  boy 
proceeded  to  milk  the  cow  and  the  goats,  attend  to 
the  horses  and  get  their  camp  ready. 

Everything  was  done  with  dispatch  as  each  had 
his  particular  task  to  perform,  and  in  an  hour's  time 
everything  was  properly  tucked  away  for  the  night, 
even  the  animals  seemed  to  know  by  long  training, 
exactly  what  was  expected  of  them. 


On  the  dirt  roads  of  the  Middle   West  prairie  States  it 

is  a  wise  precaution  to  use  Weed  chains  on  front  and  rear 

wheels  when  the  roads  are  ivet 


32  A  MODERN  NOAHJS  ARK 

Now  came  the  time  for  a  visit  over  the  campfire 
and  the  woman  proved  a  very  interesting  talker, 
recounting  her  many  varied  experiences  on  the  road. 
She  was  what  is  called  in  the  West  a  "drifter,"  that 
is  a  person  who  is  never  satisfied  to  stay  long  enough 
in  one  place  to  become  a  part  of  the  community. 
She  had  roamed  this  way  over  the  West  for  many 
years,  a  sort  of  self-sufficient  and  self-reliant  tramp, 
making  a  living  by  trading  lace  and  embroideries  to 
farmer's  wives  and  occasionally  trading  some  live- 
stock and  varying  this  legitimate  "business"  by  tell- 
ing fortunes  whenever  she  found  a  gullible  speci- 
men. Within  her  limitations  and  requirements  she 
said  she  managed  to  get  along,  felt  free  to  come  and 
go  wherever  the  fancy  dictated  and  to  "be  her  own 
boss  and  owe  nobody  a  debt  either  of  money  or 
gratitude."  She  was  a  shrewd  philosopher  of  the 
native  sort. 

Next  morning  we  got  started  by  the  time  her 
"crew"  were  harnessing  their  horses  and  we  parted 
with  her  assurance  that  she  would  run  across  us 
again  somewhere  between  the  Alleghenies  and  the 
Rockies. 


No  Gasoline— and  Yet 

ON  MY  first  trip  into  the  Apache  country  I 
had  been  assured  that  if  I  could  only  reach 
Springerville,  gasoline  would  undoubtedly 
be  found  at  that  settlement.  We  left  McCarthy  sta- 
tion on  the  Santa  Fe  railroad  and  cut  across  country 
on  faint  trails  meandering  across  mountains,  be- 
tween lava  beds  and  cliffs,  using  mountain  peaks  as 
guiding  landmarks,  and  finally  after  ninety  mile, 
of  the  roughest  kind  of  going,  unfit  for  wagons,  let 
alone  motor  cars,  made  Nations'  Ranch  with  the 
gasoline  tank  almost  empty  and  with  more  than 
forty  miles  yet  to  go  to  Springerville.  As  luck 
would  have  it  a  few  gallons  of  the  precious  fluid 
were  found  at  the  ranch,  where  it  had  been  kept 
for  a  pumping  engine  and  this  enabled  us  to  reach 
Springerville.  My  motor  car,  or  "outfit,"  as  the 
local  people  called  it,  was  the  first  ever  seen  in  this 
Mormon  settlement,  located  so  far  from  a  railroad. 
Mr.  Becker,  the  local  merchant,  who  was  later 
destined  to  become  the  greatest  power  for  the 
Good-Roads  movement  in  Eastern  Arizona,  thought 
I  would  surely  be  able  to  procure  gasoline  at  Fort 
Apache,  sixty  miles  further  in  the  heart  of  the  wild 
and  exceedingly  rough  country  of  the  Mogollon  and 
White  Mountains.  As  no  motor  car  had  ever  be- 
fore visited  the  region,  it  seemed  foolhardy,  I  was 
told,  to  attempt  to  reach  the  army  post  over  the 
execrable  trails  across  the  volcanic  plateau  of  the 
White  Mountains,  over  nine  thousand  feet  high. 
However,  if  I  dared  to  undertake  it  the  merchant 
was  willing  to  give  me  the  gasoline  contained  in  the 

33 


34  NO  GASOLINE AND  YET 


At  many  a  place  in  the  rugged  country  of  Colorado  and 
New  Mexico,  where  now  the  touring  motorist  finds  well 
constructed   highways,  the   pathfinder  struggled   up   nar- 
row defiles,  steep  and  rocky 

store-lamps,  the  only  supply  in  the  settlement.  This 
scant  supply  coupled  with  the  stories  about  the 
country  ahead  did  not  promise  well,  but  neverthe- 
less we  started  out.  The  ascent  of  the  mountains 
proved  exceedingly  arduous  and  so  slow  that  we 
were  overtaken  by  darkness  and  worse  yet  by  a 
blizzard  (it  was  in  November)  by  the  time  we 
reached  half  way  across  the  plateau.  More  than 
half  frozen  after  a  tough  tussle  with  snowdrifts, 
cold  blasts,  buried  lava  boulders  and  lost  trail,  we 
arrived  towards  dawn  at  Cooley's  Ranch,  forty-two 
miles  out,  the  only  house  on  the  way. 

After  being  thawed  out  and  having  partaken  of 
a  substantial  breakfast  we  finally  arrived  at  Fort 
Apache  and  found  unbounded  hospitality  but  no 
gasoline.  Here  was  a  serious  situation.  At  the 
time  there  was  only  a  small  troop  of  cavalry  with 


NO    GASOLINE AND    YET 


35 


three  officers  at  the  post  and  these  three  were  very 
glad  to  see  somebody  from  "the  outside,"  especially 
if  that  somebody  would  make  a  fourth  hand  at 
whist.  Chatting  about  the  gasoline  situation  be- 
tween deals  I  was  offered  all  sorts  of  sympathy,  but 
as  this  would  not  move  motor  cars  it  seemed  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  sit  down  and  wait  for  a  team 
to  go  to  Holbrook  on  the  railroad  for  a  supply,  and 
freighters  took  two  weeks  for  a  round  trip  to  that 
point. 

During  the  game  the  captain's  "boy,"  a  Filipino, 
came  into  the  room  for  some  uniforms  that  were 
hanging  in  a  closet.  He  inspected  these  carefully 
and  left  the  room  with  them.  Asking  the  captain 
where  the  boy  was  going  with  the  clothes  at  that 
time  of  night  I  was  answered  that  he  was  to  remove 


Ours  was  the  first  car  that  ever  ventured  to  cross  the 
9000  ft.  high  plateau  of  the  White  mountains,  in  the 
Apache  country^  Arizona.  Hidden  under  the  snoiv  were 
largo  lava  boulder*  which  immensely  aggravated  the 
difficulties  of  the  crossing 


36  NO  GASOLINE AND  YET 

some  spots  from  them.  Struck  by  an  idea  I  suddenly 
came  to  life  with  a  new  hope  and  asked  to  be  per- 
mitted to  talk  with  the  boy.  He  was  called  and 
was  much  surprised  at  my  curiosity  regarding  what 
he  used  for  removing  the  spots.  He  said  he  used  a 
cleaning  fluid  which  he  got  from  the  post  quarter- 
master. In  spite  of  the  late  hour  the  quartermaster 
wras  sent  for  and  admitted  having  four  or  five  gal- 
lons of  this  "cleaning  fluid"  in  stock.  Next  morn- 
ing this  very  fluid  made  the  engine  frisky  as  a  colt 
and  the  contents  of  the  quartermatser's  "cleaning 
fluid"  container  enabled  me  to  reach  Globe,  sixty 
miles  distant  and  the  incident  had  become  a  mere 
experience  of  the  trail. 

Nowadays  gasoline  and  all  sorts  of  motor  car 
supplies  are  procurable  at  a  number  of  places  along 
the  same  route  and  a  good  cinder  road  crosses  the 
White  Mountains  plauteau,  while  thousands  of 
cars  pass  through  Springerville  every  season — and 
it  is  only  nine  years  since  my  first  trip  into  this 
region. 


Frenchman's  Station 

ONE  moonbright  midsummer's  evening  our 
party  arrived  at  Frenchman's  Station,  lo- 
cated in  the  most  arid  part  of  Central 
Nevada  near  the  trail  that  in  former  days  was  the 
Pony  Express  route  and  two  generations  later  be- 
came the  Lincoln  Highway.  The  station  was  kept 
by  a  Frenchman  who  made  a  living  by  hauling 
water  from  a  spring,  twelve  miles  distant,  and  sell- 
ing it  to  freighters  hauling  ore  and  supplies  between 
mining  camps  to  the  South  and  the  railroad  at 
Eureka.  He  also  had  sleeping  accommodations  in 
one  of  the  two  rooms  in  his  cabin  and  furnished 
meals  to  travelers. 

As  the  hour  was  late  and  my  wife  somewhat  tired, 
we  thought,  that  rather  than  take  the  time  to  pitch 
the  tent  and  prepare  camp,  we  would  look  over  the 
accommodations  of  the  station.  I  was  deputized  to 
examine  these  and  report.  I  found  that  the  double 
iron  bedstead  in  the  "guest  room"  occupied  every 
inch  of  space  necessitating  undressing  in  the  other 
room  or  perform  the  feat  in  the  bed  somewhat  in 
the  manner  necessary  in  a  Pullman  berth.  The 
facts  were  promptly  reported  back  to  the  car. 

Friend  wife  thought  she  had  better  have  an  in- 
dividual peep  and  after  looking  the  situation  over 
thought  it  would  do  if  the  host  would  furnish  clean 
linen.  After  having  this  cryptic  word  explained  to 
him  as  meaning  clean  sheets  and  pillow  cases  he 
rolled  his  eyes  and  sputtered  a  flow  of  protestations 
assuring  us  that  we  need  have  no  worry  about  the 
linen  as  the  people  who  slept  in  that  bed  last  were 

37 


38  FRENCHMAN'S  STATION 

perfectly  clean  people,  in  fact  as  he  put  it:  "as  clean 
as  Bill  Taft."  Mr.  Taft  at  that  time  was  our 
President. 

Eventually  we  succeeded  in  inducing  the  produc- 
tion of  satisfactory  bedding  and  proceeded  out  into 
the  lean-to  shed  of  a  kitchen  in  anticipation  of 
something  to  eat.  Here  my  wife  discovered  a 
luscious-looking  watermelon  partly  covered  by  a  wet 
cloth  to  keep  it  cool  and  at  once  made  a  requisition 
on  a  generous  slice.  Our  host,  however,  held  up 
his  hands  in  protest  and  with  many  apologies  main- 
tained that  to  grant  this  request  would  be  out  of 
the  question  and  entirely  impossible  as  he  had  had 
it  brought  all  the  way  from  Reno  in  anticipation 
of  the  visit  of  the  "great  pathfinder"  who  was  ex- 


On  the  Lincoln  Highway  across  Nevada  there  are  several 
of  these  mud  fiats.  When  dry  they  afford  excellent  going, 
but  when  wet  become  absolutely  impassable  for  motor 
traffic  and  have  caused  great  hardships  and  delay  to 
transcontinental  motor  tourists.  Extensive  improvements, 
now  under  way,  will  make  for  comfortable  travel  through 
this  region 


FRENCHMAN'S  STATION  39 

pected  over  the  route  on  an  inspection  trip  as  stated 
in  the  Reno  papers  and  this  was  intended  as  a  pleas- 
ing surprise  to  the  great  man.  To  encounter  a 
luscious  watermelon  in  the  most  arid  part  of 
Nevada,  a  hundred  miles  from  a  railroad,  would  be 
sure  to  convince  him  that  after  all  this  route  had 
its  advantages  and  should  be  advocated  as  a  National 
touring  boulevard  and  thus  bring  lucrative  business 
to  the  station. 

When  my  wife  asked  who  this  great  man  was  he 
produced  a  copy  of  a  Reno  newspaper  a  few  days 
old  which  contained  an  account  of  the  expected  visit 
of  her  husband.  The  half-tone  photograph  accom- 
panying the  article  was  taken  when  I  wore  city 
clothes  and  thus  he  had  not  recognized  me.  We 
chose  not  to  enlighten  him  and  enjoyed  a  fair 
meal  sans  watermelon.  Our  host  in  the  meantime 
volubly  set  forth  his  bright  prospects  of  future 
profits  from  travel  over  the  expected  boulevard.  He 
was  so  earnest  and  enthusiastic  that  we  did  not  have 
the  heart  to  discourage  him. 

Now  on  the  door  of  my  car  was  a  small  brass 
plate  on  which  was  engraved  my  name  and  official 
position.  Next  morning  when  I  went  out  to  the 
car  to  see  if  everything  was  all  right,  I  found  the 
watermelon  on  the  tonneau  floor  covered  by  the  wet 
cloth  but  our  host  was  nowhere  in  sight.  In  fact 
we  prepared  our  own  breakfast  and  only  when  we 
were  ready  to  depart  did  he  come  from  behind  a 
nearby  small  hill  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes  uttered 
his  profound  mortification  over  the  fact  that  he  had 
not  recognized  me,  and  his  hopes  that  I  would  not 
let  "this  unfortunate  demonstration  of  his  absurd 


40 


FRENCHMAN  S   STATION 


stupidity"  influence  me  against  "locating  the  boule- 
vard" past  his  station. 

While  the  boulevard  is  still  only  on  the  maps  this 
route  has  attracted  such  a  share  of  the  transconti- 
nental motor  traffic  that  it  is  safe  to  assume  that 
our  host  is  reconciled  for  the  lack  of  the  boulevard 
by  the  increased  flow  of  revenue  from  the  tourist 
traffic.  At  least  I  hope  he  is  as  he  was  a  cheerful, 
good  old  soul,  residing  alone  out  there  in  the  barren 
and  burning  desert. 


In  the  Mogollon  range  of  mountainsj  in  Arizona  and 
Mexico,  mountain  lions  of  great  size  abound.     This  hun- 
ter, whom  the  pathfinder  encountered  in  this  region,  had 
a  wagon  load  of  mountain  lion  pelts 


Faculty  of  Orientation 

WHILE  making  the  pioneer  motor  survey  up 
the  Yellowstone  Valley  in  Montana,  over 
what  is  now  the  National  Parks  Highway 
and  also  the  Yellowstone  Trail,  we  arrived,  after  a 
hard  tussle  with  flooded  river  flats,  at  the  little  town 
of  Custer.  Here  I  found  that  further  progress  up 
the  valley  was  out  of  the  question  on  account  of  the 
flood,  so  began  investigating  the  possibility  of  work- 
ing out  a  way  around  through  the  hills  to  the  south. 
I  was  told  there  was  an  old  trail  along  the  crest  of 
Pine  Ridge,  in  view  some  miles  to  the  south,  and 
that  I  might  be  able  to  find  a  way  up  to  the  crest 
of  this  ridge,  though  no  one  seemed  to  know  where 
a  trail  went  up  or  was  willing  to  venture  an  opinion 
as  to  whether  a  motor  car  would  be  able  to  attain 
the  summit  up  the  apparently  steep  side  slopes. 

However,  to  sit  still  was  not  on  the  program,  so 
we  started  for  the  hills  with  eyes  anxiously  scanning 
them  from  afar  in  an  effort  to  discover  what  might 
prove  a  path  or  trail  of  some  kind.  We  drove  across 
country  along  sheep  trails  and  across  them  till  we 
came  to  the  first  foothills  without  having  discovered 
any  sign  of  a  trail  up  the  slopes.  We  did  find,  how- 
ever, that  the  ridge  was  deeply  incised  by  small 
canyons  or  gashes  and  after  having  carefully  in- 
spected several  of  these  on  foot,  I  thought  I  saw  the 
possibility  of  reaching  the  top  of  the  ridge  by  zig- 
zagging up  the  rather  sharply  inclined  side  of  one 
of  these  canyons.  In  making  our  way  up  through 
the  gravelly  dry  bed  of  the  canyon  we  soon  found 
that  we  could  not  get  out  of  this  bed  to  gain  the 

41 


42  FACULTY    OF    ORIENTATION 

firmer  ground  of  the  side  hill,  in  fact  we  were  soon 
so  firmly  imbedded  in  the  loose  gravel  that  we  could 
move  neither  forward  or  backwards,  and  realized 
that  it  would  be  the  arduous  work  of  many  hours  to 
extricate  the  car  from  its  position. 

Before  entering  the  canyon  or  "draw"  as  it  is 
called  in  Montana,  I  had  noticed  the  white  canvas 
of  a  sheep-wagon  some  two  or  three  miles  distant 
on  the  rolling  foothills.  To  enlighten  the  unin- 
itiated a  sheep-wagon  is  the  home-on-wheels  of 
a  sheep  herder.  This  home  is  moved  from  one  loca- 
tion to  another  about  every  two  weeks  to  provide 
new  grazing  grounds  for  his  flock  of  about  two 
thousand  sheep  which  he  has  in  charge  for  the 
owner,  who  may  own  from  ten  to  sixty  of  these 
sheep-wagons  and  who  brings  a  team  of  horses  for 
moving  them  from  one  location  to  another  when 
required. 

In  order  to  avoid  the  arduous  work  of  getting  the 


This  situation,  encountered  in  Montana,  necessitated  the 

taking    apart   and   reconstructing   the   bridge.      Laborious 

and  slow  but  counted  as  all  in  the  day's  'work 


FACULTY  OF  ORIENTATION  43 

car  out  I  took  our  driver  Heinie  out  to  the  edge  of 
the  draw  and  pointed  out  to  him  the  location  of 
the  sheep-wagon  and  asked  him  to  go  over  there  to 
see  if  he  could  procure  the  use  of  a  team,  caution- 
ing him  to  note  well  the  location  of  the  canyon  in 
order  to  find  his  way  back  to  our  car.  Now  Heinie 
had  the  faculty  of  losing  his  way  more  prominently 
developed  than  anyone  I  ever  met,  in  fact  his  bump 
of  orientation  was  so  dwarfed  that  he  would  lose 
his  way  back  to  the  hotel  of  a  city  if  the  garage 
were  around  the  corner  and  thus  out  of  sight  of  it. 
Hence  my  cautioning  him  not  to  miss  the  particular 
canyon  in  which  our  car  was  when  he  returned  from 
the  sheep-wagon  with  or  without  the  horses,  espe- 
cially in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  car  was  down  in 
a  depression  and  could  not  be  seen  unless  one  came 
within  a  couple  of  hundred  feet  of  it. 

Heinie  started  out  assuring  me  he  would  be  back 
in  a  jiffy  and  we  could  hear  his  merry  whistle  grow 
fainter  as  he  drew  away  into  the  distance.  I  started 
to  make  a  fire  to  prepare  a  bit  to  eat  as  friend  wife 
suggested  we  should  have  everything  ready  against 
Heinie's  return  so  as  to  be  prepared  to  move 
promptly.  This  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  aft- 
ernoon. In  the  course  of  an  hour  or  a  little  more  I 
went  out  of  the  draw  to  look  for  Heinie,  but  he 
was  nowhere  in  sight.  We  waited  all  the  long  aft- 
ernoon and  still  no  Heinie.  We  were  beginning  to 
get  considerably  worried  about  the  boy,  particularly 
when  I  saw  through  the  field  glasses  that  the  sheep- 
herder  was  preparing  his  supper  and  that  he  was 
alone  at  his  camp.  I  fired  a  couple  of  shots  to 
attract  Heinie's  attention  in  case  he  was  lost  and 
roaming  over  the  side  of  the  ridge.  As  no  answer- 


44  FACULTY   OF  ORIENTATION 

ing  cry  resulted  we  finally  prepared  our  camp  for 
the  night  and  had  a  good  fire  burning,  thinking 
that  the  glare  of  the  flames  might  guide  the  boy 
back. 

Next  morning  at  an  anxious  and  hasty  breakfast 
Heinie  was  still  missing,  and  the  worst  was  that  I 
did  not  think  it  well  to  leave  my  wife  alone  in  camp 
in  order  to  go  and  hunt  for  the  boy,  as  one  of  the 
Indian  sheep-herders  might  pay  our  camp  a  visit. 
All  the  morning  I  scanned  the  surrounding  country 
with  the  field  glasses  and  finally  about  two  o'clock, 
twenty-four  hours  after  his  leaving  the  car,  I  spied 
him  afar  off  coming  towards  the  ridge  accompanied 
by  a  man  driving  a  team  of  horses.  Much  relieved 
I  hurried  down  to  the  car  and  reported  to  my  wife 
that  Heinie  was  in  sight  and  to  help  get  something 
ready  for  him  to  eat  in  case  he  was  hungry.  The 
meal  about  ready,  I  again  went  up  on  the  slight  ele- 
vation from  where  I  had  seen  the  party  approaching, 
but  Heinie  and  his  companion  had  disappeared  and 
were  nowhere  in  sight  nor,  in  spite  of  shots  fired, 
shouts  and  waving  of  red  blankets,  could  we  dis- 
cover any  further  sign  of  them  for  the  rest  of  the 
entire  day.  Another  anxious  night  was  spent  in 
camp  and  Heinie  was  still  missing  the  next  noon. 
However,  two  hours  later  he  again  appeared  in  the 
focus  of  the  field  glasses  still  accompanied  by  his 
friend  with  the  horses,  and  this  time  I  took  no 
chances  of  loosing  him  again,  but  ran  out  to  meet 
them  about  a  mile  from  the  car. 

Poor  Heinie  had  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  When 
he  reached  the  sheep-wagon  he  found  it  deserted,  but 
spied  another  one  a  mile  or  so  beyond,  and  here  he 
found  willing  folks  with  a  team  who  was  glad  to 


FACULTY  OF  ORIENTATION  45 

be  of  help.  But  alas,  when  Heinie  undertook  to  act 
as  guide  back  to  the  car  he  stared  in  blank  amaze- 
ment at  the  ridge.  Every  canyon  and  gash  looked 
alike  to  him  and  there  were  literally  hundreds  of 
them.  So  they  spent  forty-eight  hours  hunting  for 
the  right  one,  with  poor  Heinie  worried  sick.  He 
was  surely  a  happy  boy  to  get  to  the  wheel  of  his 
beloved  car  again. 

The  team  yanked  us  out  of  our  troubles  in  no 
time,  and  after  several  attempts  in  various  localities 
we  finally  attained  the  summit  of  the  ridge.  That 
was  indeed  some  ride  along  the  hog-back  crest  of 
Pine  Ridge,  crossing  saddles  and  rifts,  and  when,  by 
evening,  we  finally  succeeded  in  finding  a  way  down 
on  the  other  side  of  the  ridge  we  were  a  mighty 
tired  lot  in  camp  that  night.  Next  day  we  made 
Miles  City  via  Harder  and  found  that  they  were 
organizing  searching  parties  to  go  and  look  for  us 
as  our  departure  from  Custer  three  days  before  had 
been  promptly  chronicled  in  the  city  papers  and  our 
arrival  that  first  night  had  been  expected.  It  was 
thought  that  we  had  met  with  an  accident  in  the 
hills  or  that  we  might  have  been  murdered  by 
renegades. 


Border 

BEFORE  the  construction  of  the  highway 
bridge  at  Yuma  it  was  nothing  unusual  for 
motorists,  who  reached  the  ferry  on  the 
California  side  after  six  o'clock  P.  M.,  to  have  to 
spend  the  night  in  their  cars  as  the  ferryman  could 
not  be  hired,  threatened  or  otherwise  persuaded  to 
break  his  rule  not  to  work  after  hours,  no  matter 
what  the  hardships  to  the  tourists,  who  were  com- 
pelled to  sit  there  in  the  dark,  generally  supperless, 
too,  and  watch  the  blinking  arc  lights  of  the  city  of 
Yuma  just  across  the  river,  and  not  a  wide  river  at 
that. 

Having  had  this  experience  on  two  separate  occa- 
sions, I  put  the  matter  up  to  the  city  authorities  and 
the  movement  for  the  building  of  a  highway  bridge 
connecting  the  convenient  bluffs  just  above  the 
ferry,  already  discussed  as  a  possibility  of  the  future, 
took  on  added  impetus.  Concrete  action  followed. 
By  the  co-operation  of  the  Federal  government 
with  the  States  of  Arizona  and  California,  the 
bridge  was  built — and  the  ferryman  lost  his  job  as 
he  fully  deserved. 


46 


A  Mormon  Dance 

ON  ONE  of  my  trips  from  Zuni  to  Inscrip- 
tion Rock  our  party  spent  the  night  at  the 
small  Mormon  settlement  of  Ramah  and 
that  evening  were  invited  to  attend  a  dance  at  the 
place  which  served  as  schoolhouse,  house  of  worship 
and  public  meeting  house  generally.  When  a  fair- 
sized  crowd  had  assembled,  the  fiddler  tuned  up  and 
the  merry-makings  ready  to  start,  the  elder,  or  what- 
ever he  is  called  in  the  Mormon  church,  arose  and 
asked  everybody  to  join  in  prayer.  Like  many  a 
deacon  of  other  faiths  he  proceeded  to  give  the 
Lord  a  lot  of  information,  which  he  seemed  to  think 
the  Supreme  Power  should  know  about  and  finally 
asked  that  evil  thoughts  be  kept  from  the  dancers. 

Some  of  the  young  men  in  my  party,  who  had 
been  introduced  generally  among  the  young  ladies, 
had  evidently  missed  an  introduction  to  two  or  three 
of  them  and  when  they  asked  for  a  dance  were 
promptly  turned  down  by  these  because  they  were 
not  properly  introduced.  A  strict  observance  of  the 
conventions  were  demanded  even  in  this  isolated  and 
remote  region.  The  festive  occasion  was  closed 
with  another  long  prayer. 


47 


A  Mexican  Wedding 

ENTERING  on  one  occasion  an  all-Mexican 
village  in  Arizona  we  were  met  by  a  wed- 
ding procession.    Preceded  by  two  musicians, 
one  playing  a  guitar  and  one  a  violin,  the  white- 
dressed  bride,  led  by  the  hand  of  the  groom,  came 
towards  us  with  measured  and  stately  strides.    Fol- 
lowing were  the  relatives  of  the  happy  pair,  all  with 
beaming  faces  and  chatting  animatedly. 

As  we  drove  to  one  side  to  make  room  for  the 
procession  the  groom  halted  its  march,  came  over  to 
our  car  and  handed  me  a  written  invitation  to 
attend  a  dance  with  refreshments  that  evening  at 
the  house  of  the  bride's  father.  Presumably  this 
invitation  was  extended  to  all  strangers  encounted 
during  the  progress  of  the  procession.  Surely  a  con- 
vincing proof  of  the  great  hospitality  of  these  unlet- 
tered simpleminded  folk,  this  extending  a  friendly 
hand  of  welcome  to  whoever  enter  their  gates. 


A  Mexican  wedding  at  Spring  erville,  Ariz.     Yes,  right 

here   in   the    United   States,   not   in    a   remote   corner   of 

some  foreign  country 

48 


The  Yuma  Mummy 

A i  A  proof  of  the  dryness  of  the  desert  air 
I  will  relate  an  experience  I  encountered  in 
Yuma,  even  though  the  joke,  somewhat 
ghastly,  was  on  myself. 

One  of  the  chief  boosters  for  creating  motor 
tourist  traffic  to  and  through  the  town  was  the  city 
undertaker.  The  president  of  the  local  automobile 
club  escorted  me  over  to  the  undertaking  establish- 
ment to  introduce  me,  and  finding  no  one  in  attend- 
ance in  the  office  left  me  there,  with  an  apology,  to 
go  in  search  of  the  proprietor.  I  sat  down  in  a 
chair,  and  after  idly  glancing  through  a  magazine 
which  told  all  about  coffins  and  shrouds,  I  looked 
up  and  my  eyes  saw  reflected  in  a  mirror  on  the 
opposite  wall,  a  man  standing  in  the  corner  of  the 
room  behind  my  chair.  And  if  a  face  could  ever 
portray  the  definition  of  a  diabolical  grin  this  man's 
certainly  did.  To  say  that  I  was  startled  is  putting 
it  mildly.  I  am  afraid  I  arose  from  that  chair  with 
a  bound,  surely  with  an  alacrity  frowned  upon  in 
the  best  social  circles  where  deliberateness  is  a  dis- 
tinguishing mark.  Facing  the  man  with  the  grin  I 
was  astounded  to  note  that  it  was  a  grin  that  refused 
to  come  off,  it  was  there  for  keeps. 

Upon  closer  inspection  this  ghastly  apparition 
proved  to  be  a  mummified  human  with  long  hair 
streaming  down  alongside  his  sunken  face,  and 
gleaming  white  teeth  glistening  brightly.  Heavy 
eyebrows  and  some  of  the  tousled  hair  hid  its  eye- 
sockets.  It  was  fully  dressed  and  standing  almost 
straight  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  leaning  only 

49 


50 


THE  YUMA   MUMMY 


one    wall.      No    wonder    I    was 


slightly    against 
startled. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  the  undertaker  I  was  told 
this  body  had  stood  there  in  the  corner  of  the  room 
for  more  than  a  year,  and  that  it  was  found  out  on 
the  desert.  The  dry  air  prevented  decay  and  merely 
turned  the  deceased  into  a  mummy.  No  one  seemed 
to  know  anything  of  the  man  who  met  this  luckless 
fate.  It  was  many  a  day  before  I  forgot  this 
experience. 


On  top  of  the  White  mountains  plateau  in  Arizona.    Some 

of   these   small   brooks,   while   shallow,   has   bottoms   like 

glue.     Obtaining  traction  is   most  difficult 


Notorious 

IN  1911  the  Glidden  Tour  was  run  from  New 
York  to  Jacksonville  in  the  month  of  October. 
As  I  was  to  start  on  a  route  investigation  trip 
to  California  near  the  beginning  of  October,  I  did 
the  pathfinding  for  the  Glidden  Tour  in  the  latter 
part  of  August,   arriving   in   Jacksonville  the   first 
week  in  September. 

Owing  to  pressure  of  time  I  travelled  fairly  fast 
for  a  strictly  pathfinding  tour,  especially  when  con- 
sidering the  fact  that  careful  strip  maps  were  made 


The    road    between   the    capital    of   the   Nation    and    the 
capital  of  the  Confederacy  was  certainly  a  tough  prop- 
osition for  a  motor  car  to  negotiate  up  to  1919  when  con- 
ditions were  somewhat  improved 


51 


52 


NOTORIOUS 


of  the  route  as  we  went  along,  besides  notes  of  hotel 
accommodations  for  the  big  crowd  to  follow  on  the 
Glidden  Tour.  This  did  not  give  us  much  time  for 
the  many  various  entertainments  usually  attendant 
upon  a  tour  of  this  kind,  especially  where  cities  on 
two  parallel  possible  routes  were  bitterly  and  jeal- 
ously contending  for  the  honor  of  being  chosen  as  a 
noon  or  night  stop  for  the  big  tour.  Many  unique 
arguments  were  often  brought  forth  in  such  cases. 
I  think  that-  pathfinding  as  a  whole,  considering  the 
delicate  task  of  choosing  only  one,  and  that  the  best 
one,  of  several  competitive  optional  routes  without 
causing  hard  feelings  or  worse,  is  the  best  possible 
training  for  a  man  qualifying  for  the  diplomatic 
service. 

However,  I  could  not  altogether  avoid  entertain- 
ments which  were  staged  to  show  me  honor  or  to 
influence  my  judgment  in  the  choice  of  routes  as 


Only  a  few  years  ago  Florida  "roads"  were  something 

long  to  be  remembered  by  those  who  traveled  over   (or 

through)  them 


NOTORIOUS  53 


Of   course   nobody   expected   to   find   real   roads   through 

Florida  swamps  when  we  went  pathfinding  and  it  may  be 

truthfully   said   that   we   were   not   disappointed    in    our 

expectations 

the  case  might  be.  These  occasions  were  usually 
attended  by  more  or  less  speech-making — usually 
more.  I  was  frequently  presented  to  the  assemblage 
in  terms  most  extravagant  as  the  greatest  pathfinder 
since  Daniel  Boone  and  General  Fremont.  At  one 
place  I  was  called  the  "Daniel  Boone  of  the  Gaso- 
line Age,"  at  another  "John  the  Baptist  of  the 
Good  Roads  Gospel,"  or  "The  Great  Pathfinder 
of  the  Good  Roads  Era,"  and  similar  flattering 
phrases. 

But  it  remained  for  the  mayor  of  one  of  the 
smaller  Georgia  towns  to  cap  the  climax.  In  the 
center  of  the  public  square  was  the  usual  band  stand, 
and  when  our  car  arrived  with  all  its  occupants, 
grimy  from  a  combination  of  dust  and  perspiration. 
I  was  escorted  up  the  steps  of  the  stand,  around 
which  the  majority  of  the  citizens  of  the  town  were 


54  NOTORIOUS 

assembled.  After  the  mayor  had  made  some  rather 
lengthy  and  not  altogether  apropos  remarks  to  the 
people  he  told  them  that  they  should  feel  especially 
honored  that  auspicious  day  in  having  among  them 
such  a  man  as  myself.  Beckoning  me  to  come  for- 
ward he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  heard  all 
over  the  square:  "Allow  me  to  present  to  you,  my 
fellow  citizens,  the  most  notorious  tourist  of  the 
age."  Just  that.  Of  course  the  laugh  was  on  me. 

If  I  had  not  perfected  my  plans  for  another  trans- 
continental trip  it  would  have  been  my  province  to 
pilot  the  Glidden  Tour  over  this  route.  As  it  was, 
my  place  was  taken  by  one  of  my  co-workers,  an 
old  and  dear  friend.  Near  the  town  where  the 
mayor  referred  to  me  as  the  notorious,  when  he 
meant  the  notable  tourist,  the  pilot  car,  running 
along  at  high  speed,  was  ditched  and  the  man  who 
took  my  place  as  pilot  was  killed. 


The  Padre's  Prophesy 

WHEN  on  an  inspection  tour  over  the 
Pacific  Highway  from  Seattle  to  San  Diego 
we  eventually  approached  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, it  was  late  in  the  year  and  the  Southland 
beckoned  us  with  promise  of  sunshine  and  good 
roads.  Having  entered  upon  El  Camino  Real,  the 
old  Kings  Highway,  which  in  early  days  was  only  a 
trail  connecting  the  twenty-two  Franciscan  Missions 
of  California  and  which  now  constitutes  a  link  in 
the  Pacific  Highway,  it  was  of  course  inevitable  that 
we  decided  to  pay  a  visit  to  all  the  old  missions, 
most  of  them  now  merely  ruins,  along  the  way.  It 
was  also  of  course  inevitable  that  the  camera  was 
used  freely  to  make  photographs  of  the  venerable 
structures  as  a  means  to  refresh  our  memories  of 
these  visits  in  later  years. 

Having  had  the  most  pleasant  experiences  all 
along  the  line  and  securing  some  splendid  snap- 
shots, we  eventually  arrived  at  the  Santa  Yhez  mis- 
sion near  Los  Olivos.  A  few  years  previously  this 
mission  had  lost  its  imposing  tower,  which  had 
tumbled  down  in  a  storm,  owing  to  erosion  of  its 
material  of  construction  and  general  old  age,  so  that 
the  mission  bell  had  been  mounted  on  an  unsightly 
scaffolding  in  the  open  place  fronting  the  chapel 
entrance.  I  proceeded  at  once  to  get  busy  with  the 
camera  and,  having  taken  all  the  photographs  which 
I  desired,  noticed  a  small  placard  fastened  on  the 
front  of  the  chapel  door. 

Upon  approaching  to  read  the  placard  I  found  to 
my  consternation  that  it  was  a  polite  request  to 

55 


56  THE  PADRE'S  PROPHESY 

visitors  not  to  make  photographs  of  the  mission  be- 
fore first  procuring  the  permission  of  the  padre.  I 
felt  much  mortified  in  having,  though  uninten- 
tionally, ignored  the  inhibition,  especially  as  I 
noticed  that  the  padre  was  watching  our  behavior 
from  the  porch  of  the  mission  house,  attached  to  the 
chapel  building.  In  order  to  make  my  excuses  and 
set  myself  right  with  the  padre,  I  stepped  up  to 
him  and  tendered  apologies  for  my  apparent  dis- 
regard of  his  printed  request.  With  a  gracious 
smile  he  said  it  would  be  all  right  as  he  never  knew 
a  photograph  which  had  been  taken,  without  first 
securing  the  requested  permission,  to  turn  out  any- 
thing but  a  failure. 

I  assured  him,  however,  that  I  knew  my  camera 
and  also  knew  that  my  film  was  fresh  stock,  so  I 
had  no  fear  of  the  results,  but  would  be  happy  to 
be  allowed  the  privilege  of  making  a  contribution  to 
the  church  box  in  partial  atonement  for  my  over- 
sight. While  thanking  me  for  this,  he  thought  that 
the  photographs  nevertheless  would  turn  out  bad. 
After  a  few  moments  pleasant  chat  we  parted  the 
very  best  of  friends. 

When  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  the  trip  was 
finished,  and  I  had  secured  photographs  of  every 
one  of  the  missions  on  the  route,  the  films  were 
developed.  Every  exposure  made  was  excellent — 
except  those  made  at  Santa  Ynez.  The  film  was 
good,  fresh  stock,  because  others  on  the  same  roll 
came  out  fine.  Thus  the  padre's  prophesy  came 
true,  as  the  Santa  Ynez  photographs  were  so  fogged 
that  it  was  barely  possible  to  recognize  the  objects 
intended  to  be  depicted. 


Pesky  Pests 

TO  travelers  beyond  the  fringe  of  civilization 
it  is  well  known  that  the  further  north  one 
reaches  the  bigger  and  more  vicious  the  mos- 
quitoes are  and,  it  seems,  also  more  plentiful. 
While  the  damp  regions  of  the  tropic  and  sub-tropic 
countries  of  course  have  their  share  of  the  pests  it  is 
said  that  the  mosquitoes  of  Alaska  and  the  swampy 
wooded  regions  of  Canada  surpass  the  warmer  cli- 
mates in  the  number,  the  insistent  rapaciousness  and 
venom  of  these  insects  which  near  the  dusk  of  the 
evening  sweep  the  country  in  literally  dense  clouds 
inflicting  suffering  and  often  death  on  animals  and 
such  human  beings  as  are  not  prepared  with  veils, 
screens  and  special  clothing  to  resist  and  render 
futile  their  onslaughts. 

However,  the  sloughs  and  coulees  of  our  northern 
prairie  states,  such  as  Minnesota,  the  Dakotas  and 
Montana,  also  furnish  excellent  breeding  places 
for  a  species  of  mosquito  which  I  believe  in  genuine 
devilishness  and  ingenuity,  undiluted  poison  and 
militant  generalship  prove  worthy  matches  to  their 
Canadian  and  Alaskan  cousins  and  to  compare  with 
which,  the  well-known  and  much  condemned  New 
Jersey  variety  are  as  tame  household  pets. 

While  traversing  the  North  Dakota  prairies  in 
search  of  the  most  likely  location  for  a  transconti- 
nental motor  route  into  the  northwest  on  one  occa- 
sion we  were  approaching  Bismarck,  the  state  capi- 
tal. We  were  still  some  twenty  miles  east  of  the 
city  and  were  pushing  on  to  reach  a  good  dinner 
before  dark  when  our  trail  lead  us  across  a  sort  of 

57 


58  PESKY    PESTS 

dike  over  several  reed-grown  swamps  or  sloughs. 
When  about  half  way  across  this  dike,  which  was 
probably  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  our  car  skidded 
off  to  one  side  and  barely  escaped  plunging  into  the 
ooze  of  the  swamp. 

As  it  was  we  were  ' 'stuck."  While  we  were 
busily  endeavoring  to  get  the  car  back  on  to  the 
crown  of  the  dike  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  sun  sud- 
denly went  down  and  the  dusk  of  evening  at  once 
settled  on  the  surrounding  country.  Looking  up 
from  the  manipulation  of  the  jack  handle  I  saw  a 
dense  black  cloud  arise  out  of  the  slough  and 
slowly,  as  though  wafted  by  a  breeze,  draw  nearer 
to  us.  I  did  not  realize  the  nature  of  the  thing  till 
untold  millions  of  mosquitoes  buzzed  around  us 
and  dived  for  an  unprotected  spot  on  our  arms, 
heads,  faces  and  necks. 

As  it  was  absolutely  essential  to  continue  with 
the  work  of  getting  the  car  going  we  simply  had 
to  scrape  the  pests  off  by  the  handful  whenever  we 
had  a  hand  free  that  could  be  spared  for  the  pur- 
pose. When  there  was  no  more  room  for  lodge- 
ment on  the  exposed  parts  of  our  bodies  the  insects 
would  light  on  our  clothing  and  proceed  to  bore 
until  they  struck  blood. 

When  after  some  twenty  minutes  tussle  we 
finally  succeeded  in  getting  the  car  under  way  again 
the  swarm  bloodthirstily  pursued  us  for  a  while, 
but  finally  gave  up  the  chase.  By  this  time  the  poi- 
son injected  into  our  systems  was  beginning  to  have 
serious  effects.  We  suffered  cruelly  and  scratched 
ourselves  until  the  blood  flowed.  On  approaching 
the  city  I,  who  seemed  to  suffer  the  least,  possibly 
on  account  of  my  being  a  tobacco  smoker,  had  to 


PESKY    PESTS 


59 


take  the  wheel  from  the  driver,  whose  face  had 
become  so  swollen  from  the  poison  that  his  eyes 
were  fast  becoming  closed  by  their  puffed  condition. 
They  were  entirely  closed  in  fact  when  we  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  hotel. 

We  were  compelled  to  stay  in  the  town  for  two 
days  under  medical  care  before  we  had  sufficiently 
eradicated  the  poison  from  our  systems  to  be  able  to 
proceed.  We  surely  acquired  a  wholesome  respect 
for  the  efficiency  of  Mr.  Mosquito  and  in  the  future 
were  properly  supplied  with  veils  and  heavy  gloves 
as  at  least  a  partial  protection. 


//  was  quite  some  task  to  ferry  the  Canadian  River  in 

Oklahoma.    In  order  to  reach  the  ferry  it  was  necessary 

to   cover   three-fourths   of   the   riverbed's   width   on  your 

own  wheels  across  sandbars  and  shallow  water 


Good  Fellows 

WHILE  surveying  the  Meridian  Road  from 
Laredo  on  the  Rio  Grande,  in  Texas,  to 
Winnipeg,  Manitoba,  Canada,  which  high- 
way practically  divides  the   United   States  in  two 
equal  parts,  some  of  the  Texans  accompanied  me  in 
two  cars  in  order  to  boost  for  the  improvement  of 
the   route   and  to  extend   a  hearty  welcome  for   a 
winter  visit  into  the  Sunny  South  to  the  dwellers 
of    the    more    northerly   states    through    which   we 
passed. 

Of  course  our  cavalcade  was  met  by  delegations 
of  enthusiasts  which  came  to  extend  to  us  the  hos- 
pitality of  whatever  community  we  were  approach- 
ing along  the  entire  route.  These  hearty  welcomes 
compensated  in  a  large  measure  for  the  many  trying 
experiences  which  we  had  with  rough  trails,  lack  of 
culverts,  primitive  ferries  over  considerable  rivers, 
furnace-like  hot  winds  from  parching  corn  and 
wheat  fields,  dust  and  perspiration.  However,  it 
must  be  admitted  it  sometimes  added  seriously  to 
our  discomfort  to  travel  for  several  miles  through 
a  dusty  country  into  a  town  when  we  were  sand- 
wiched between  many  escorting  cars  in  front  and 
rear,  thus  compelling  us  to  partake  of  a  dust  diet, 
blow  north  or  blow  south. 

It  has  been  my  good  fortune  during  my  many 
years  of  pathfinding  and  investigation  of  routes 
throughout  the  United  States  to  meet  many  men  in 
public  life.  Among  these  I  have  had  fifty-two  gov- 
erners  of  various  states  ride  in  my  car  during  periods 
extending  from  only  an  hour  or  so  up  to  a  two 

60 


GOOD    FELLOWS  61 


^ 

When   it   comes    to    boosting  for   Good   Roads   the    West 

Texas    communities    easily   take   first   prize.     Here    is    a 

little  bunch  of  boosters  come  out  to  meet  the  pathfinder 

and  escort  him  into  their  town 

weeks  good-road's  campaign,  and  with  few  excep- 
tions I  have  found  these  state  executives  the  best  of 
fellows,  clean-minded  good  sports,  as  ready  to  lend 
a  hand  at  the  shovel  to  get  us  out  of  a  bad  hole  in 
the  road  as  to  get  up  on  the  tonneau  seat  and  make 
a  speech,  and  apparently  as  contented  to  roll  up  in 
a  blanket  beside  the  campfire  after  a  supper  of  camp 
"vittles"  as  to  retire  to  a  sumptous  suite  of  hotel 
rooms  after  an  elaborate  banquet. 

On  this  trip  over  the  Meridian  Road  we  arrived 
at  a  state  line  somewhere  near  halfway  of  the 
route  and  were  met  by  the  governor  of  the  state, 
accompanied  by  a  large  welcoming  delegation  in  a 
long  string  of  automobiles.  At  the  first  town  we 
came  to,  they  had  prepared  quite  a  feast  for  us  in 
the  way  of  a  barbecue  lunch,  where  all  the  good 
things  of  the  season  was  served  in  great  plentitude 


62 


GOOD  FELLOWS 


to  everyone  present.  The  governor  of  course  was 
the  object  of  special  solicitude  of  a  committee  which 
had  been  appointed  to  particularly  look  after  his 
comfort.  I  was  seated  alongside  the  governor  and 
was  much  amused  at  the  worry  displayed  by  this 
committtee  when  the  governor  let  all  the  good 
things  like  roast  pig,  roast  turkey  and  attendant  fix- 
ings pass  by  without  helping  himself.  Finally  an 
immense  platter  heaped  high  with  steaming  golden 
roasted  ears  of  corn  appeared  and  the  governor  took 
six  of  these  and  piled  them  on  his  plate,  then  calmly 
proceeded  to  eat  with  apparent  relish. 

Everybody  watched  him  with  great  interest  as 
he  busied  himself  with  this  repast,  which  ordinarily 
would  suffice  for  three  men,  and  when  in  silence  and 
without  interruption  he  had  eaten  the  corn  off  the 


A  narrow  escape  from  sliding  down  the  side  of  a  moun- 
tain. The  Governor  of  the  State  of  Colorado,  at  the 
right  front  wheel,  is  assisting  the  pathfinder  to  keep  the 
car  from  going  over.  The  windlass,  a  homemade  con- 
trivance, carried  in  the  car,  saved  the  day 


GOOD   FELLOWS 


63 


six  cobs  he  said  that  but  for  modesty's  sake  he  felt 
almost  like  emulating  the  Irishman,  who  after  eat- 
ing the  corn  off  a  cob  passed  it  to  the  waiter  with 
the  request  that  the  chef  "put  some  more  beans  on 
this  stick,"  to  which  remark  one  of  those  sitting  near 
enough  to  hear  it  suggested  that  evidently  the  com- 
mittee had  brought  the  governor  to  the  wrong  place, 
they  should  have  brought  him  to  the  livery  stable 
and  not  to  the  barbecue.  This  caused  much  merri- 
ment and  the  governor  acknowledged  the  laugh  was 
on  him  and  confessed  to  an  inordinate  fondness  for 
roasted  corn,  a  fondness  which  he  only  dared  indulge 
to  the  full  when  Mrs.  Governor  was  not  present  to 
look  after  his  diet. 


//  is  serious  business  to  stop  the  momentum  of  the  car 
in  the  sucking  quicksand  beds  of  many  New  Mexico 
streams.  This  picture  was  taken  in  the  Rio  Puerco  before 
the  construction  of  a  highway  bridge  over  the  treacherous 
river 


Saladito 

WHILE  we  were  taking  the  first  truck  across 
New  Mexico  over  what  was  later  called 
"The  Trail  to  Sunset"  but  is  now  part  of 
the  National  Old  Trails  road,  we  arrived  one  even- 
ing at  a  long  low  one-story  building,  lonesomely 
located  on  the  adobe  plain  between  the  Datil  Moun- 
tains and  Rito  Quemado  in  the  Western  part  of 
Socorro  county.  As  we  had  had  a  battle  with  mud 
on  the  plains  all  day,  the  crew  was  dog  tired  and 
not  in  a  mood  for  erecting  tents  and  doing  the  work 
attendant  upon  preparing  camp  for  the  night,  cook- 
ing food,  washing  dishes,  making  beds,  etc.  For 
this  reason  the  sight  of  this  lonesome  habitation  was 
very  welcome. 

We  found  that  the  house  was  not  the  dwelling 
of  a  family  but  a  sort  of  Mexican  apartment  house, 
and  that  its  name  was  Saladito,  because  it  was 
located  near  a  small  salty  spring.  Six  families  occu- 
pied the  structure.  Their  respective  apartments, 
which  consisted  of  two  rooms  each,  were  not  inter- 
communicating which  necessitated  going  outside  in 
order  to  enter  the  apartment  of  one  of  the  neigh- 
bors. I  learned  that  the  house,  which  by  the  way 
was  not  at  all  unusual  in  some  remote  parts  of 
New  Mexico,  was  built  in  this  manner  in  order  to 
provide  better  protection  against  possible  danger  of 
Indian  attacks,  which  in  not  so  far  distant  days 
was  ever  to  be  reckoned  with  and  even  today  was 
used  as  a  dwelling  place  by  so  many  families  be- 
cause the  nearness  of  fellow  human  beings  was  a 
great  comfort  in  such  a  remote  region,  especially 
64 


SALADITO 


65 


This  desperate  effort  to  spurt  across  a  stream  'with  quick- 
sand bottom  was   only  partially  successful  as  shown   by 
the   illustration   below 

as  the  men  were  away  during  the  day  attending 
their  flocks  of  Angora  goats  from  which  they  made 
a  living. 

We  were  fortunate  enough  to  induce  one  of  the 
housewives,  who  was  a  childless  widow,  to  take  us 
in  and  allow  us  the  use  of  one  of  her  two  rooms 
and  also  to  cook  our  meals  for  us,  using  our  pro- 
visions in  their  preparation,  as  none  of  us  had  suc- 
ceeded in  acquiring  the  taste  for  Mexican  cooking, 
usually  strongly  seasoned  with  red  pepper.  While 
our  supper  was  being  cooked  I  made  a  visit  down 
along  the  line  of  the  other  apartments  and  found 
they  contained  thirty  persons  all  told,  none  of  whom 
could  speak  or  understand  a  word  of  English.  As 
I  had  a  nodding  acquaintance  with  Spanish,  I  was 
able  to  put  us  on  a  friendly  basis  with  the  inhabi- 
tants and  found  to  my  surprise  that  we  occupied  a 
veritable  Noah's  Ark.  That  historic  menagerie 


66  SALADITO 

scarcely  contained  more  species  of  animals  than 
Saladito. 

Aside  from  the  thirty  human  beings,  of  whom 
the  larger  number  were  children  of  varying  ages,  I 
was  able  to  enumerate  two  burros,  eight  dogs,  five 
cats,  sixteen  chickens,  nine  pigs,  one  Angora  ram 
and  seven  Angora  kids,  all  occupying  the  rooms  in 
common  and  seemingly  getting  along  amicably. 

During  the  night  it  rained,  and  as  New  Mexico 
adobe  is  some  problem  to  negotiate  when  wet,  even 
with  a  light  car,  let  alone  a  seven-ton  truck  heavily 
loaded,  I  decided  it  was  good  policy  to  stay  where 
we  were  until  the  country  dried  up,  and  thus  we 
spent  two  days  at  Saladito.  We  had  not  a  dull 
moment.  The  people,  their  domestic  life,  their 
homes  and  points  of  view  on  ordinary  everyday 
affairs,  were  as  interesting  to  us  as  we  were  to 
them.  Besides,  we  had  a  well-earned  rest,  which 


Motorists   who    have   had   experience   with   New  Mexico 

wet  abode  soil,  all  agree  that  it  is  the  stickiest  stuff  on 

earth 


SALADITO 


67 


put  our  crew  in  better  trim  to  tackle  the  hardships 
ahead.  As  I  knew  the  country  from  having  trav- 
ersed it  the  year  before,  I  realized  that  these  hard- 
ships were  greater  than  I  dared  divulge  to  the 
members  of  the  crew,  knowing  that  they  would 
attack  difficulties,  that  were  not  anticipated,  with 
greater  cheerfulness  than  those  about  which  they 
had  heard  and  thus  allowed  their  imagination  to 
magnify.  Of  course  there  were  no  roads,  merely 
trails  often  too  narrow  for  vehicular  traffic. 


\MER1CAN 

S.01FICE 


Price  Canyon 

I  THINK  I  may  justly  claim  the  conception  of 
the  Midland  Trail,  now  called  the  Roosevelt 
National  Highway,  as  I  had  carefully  studied 
out  its  alignment  as  well  as  given  it  a  name  two 
years  before  I  undertook  to  trace  it  on  the  ground. 
With  the  co-operation  of  the  Denver  Chamber  of 
Commerce  we  crossed  the  Rocky  Mountains  over 
Berthoud  Pass,  11,300  feet  high.  This  pass  had 
never  been  crossed  by  an  automobile  before.  Now 
it  is  done  every  day  when  free  from  snow.  Eventu- 
ally we  arrived  at  Grand  Junction,  near  the  Colo- 
rado-Utah line,  and  here  I  found  a  condition  which 
gave  food  for  serious  thought. 

The  trip  from  Grand  Junction,  a  prosperous  city 
in  the  heart  of  a  wonderful  fruit  belt,  to  Salt  Lake 
City,  three  hundred  miles  distant,  had  been  at- 
tempted on  several  occasions  by  motorists  but  had 
never  been  accomplished,  the  rough  country  and 
absence  of  culverts  or  bridges  across  washes  and 
ravines  compelling  the  shipment  of  the  car  for  a 
considerable  distance  in  every  case.  Upon  learning 
this  and  realizing  that  I  should  probably  also  fail 
to  reach  the  objective,  I  arranged  for  a  meeting  of 
the  chamber  of  commerce.  At  this  meeting  I  ex- 
plained the  importance  to  the  city  of  being  located 
on  a  transcontinental  trunk  highway  and  especially 
on  one  with  so  many  scenic  attractions  as  the  Mid- 
land Trail.  I  then  called  for  volunteers  to  accom- 
pany me  to  Salt  Lake  City  in  their  car,  suggesting 
that  three  or  four  husky  fellows  occupy  each  car  to 
enable  us  to  surmount  all  obstacles  by  sheer  physical 

68 


PRICE  CANYON 


69 


Our  car  was  the  first  to  cross  Berthoud  Pass  over  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  'west  of  Denver.  The  elevation  is 
11306  feet  and  the  summit  of  the  pass  comes  very  near 
being  the  top  of  the  world,  being  probably  the  loftiest 
trunk  line  motor  route  in  the  universe 

strength,  and  thus  learn  the  real  condition  of  the 
proposed  route  and  arrange  for  means  to  eliminate 
its  drawbacks. 

In  a  few  moments  crews  for  ten  cars  volunteered, 
and  this  speaks  volumes  for  the  enterprise  and  in- 
trepidity of  these  red-blooded  folks  of  the  West. 
After  a  day's  delay  to  get  ready  we  started  out. 
It  was  ten  days  before  a  national  election  and  all 
these  men  expected  to  be  back  in  their  home  city 
to  vote  for  President.  After  surmounting  almost 
inconceivable  difficulties,  at  times  carrying  cars 
bodily  across  deep  ravines  or  across  flooded  rivers 
and  battling  with  sticky  adobe  mud  caused  by  two 
days'  rain,  besides  having  serious  breakdowns  of 
almost  every  one  of  the  eleven  cars,  we  finally 
reached  the  town  of  Price. 


70 


PRICE  CANYON 


A  few  miles  beyond  this  place  lies  Price  Canyon, 
through  which  a  road  once  passed,  but  now  the 
D.  &  R.  G.  Railroad  occupied  the  former  bed  of 
the  road,  and,  as  no  other  trail  had  been  constructed 
through  the  canyon  over  the  sixteen  miles  from 
Helper  to  Colton,  it  was  necessary  for  the  cars  to 
travel  around  through  an  exceedingly  rough  coun- 
try nearly  sixty  miles  to  reach  from  one  of  these 
stations  to  the  other.  As  I  wanted  the  route  located 
through  Price  Canyon,  arrangements  were  made  to 
furnish  me  with  a  guide  for  hiking  through  while 
the  cars  made  the  long  trip  around. 

This  guide  was  a  sorry  specimen  of  humanity 
who,  as  a  hanger-on  at  the  town  saloons,  had 
through  dissipation  become  so  weakened  that  by  the 
time  we  had  gone  some  nine  or  ten  miles  of  the 
sixteen,  was  about  played  out  from  the  exertions 
necessary  to  get  over  the  rough  sides  of  the  steep 


A   sudden   cloudburst,   occurring   frequently   miles    away, 

-  '"   make   raging   torrents    of   ordinarily   dry   "washes" 

in    Utah 


PRICE    CANYON  71 

canyon.  Here  he  sat  down  on  a  boulder  and  en- 
treated me  to  leave  him  to  his  fate,  as  he  had  all 
his  days  been  a  worthless  good-for-nothing  and  de- 
served no  better  end,  and,  anyway,  did  not  care 
but  would  just  as  soon  pass  in  his  checks  now  as 
later.  In  other  words,  he  had  not  only  lost  his 
stamina  but  his  courage,  and  was  willing  to  give  up. 

After  considerable  persuasion  and  coaxing  he, 
however,  consented  to  make  further  efforts,  and, 
with  a  little  assistance  now  and  then,  managed  to 
make,  in  a  slow  and  stumbling  way,  another  few 
miles.  Unfortunately  we  had  here  a  rather  grue- 
some experience.  We  saw  a  decomposed  body  hang- 
ing from  a  tree,  evidently  of  some  unfortunate  who 
in  despair  had  committed  suicide.  This  entirely 
unnerved  my  companion,  and  shortly  beyond  the 
place  where  we  had  passed  the  hanging  man,  sway- 
ing back  and  forth  in  the  wind,  he  refused  entirely 
to  make  any  further  efforts,  and  no  coaxing  nor 
even  threats  had  any  effect  on  him.  He  simply  sat 
down  on  the  ground  and  refused  to  rise  or  pull 
himself  together. 

Of  course  I  could  not  leave  the  poor  wretch 
there,  as  it  was  turning  dark  and  he  was  too  poorly 
clad  to  stand  the  cold  of  the  night  in  his  alcohol- 
soaked  condition.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do 
but  try  to  carry  or  drag  him  along,  and  this  I  under- 
took to  do.  While  he  was  a  man  of  slight  physique, 
he  began  to  weigh  very  heavily  after  we  had  pro- 
ceeded a  short  distance  in  this  manner,  especially 
as  I  also  am  not  of  very  heavy  frame,  and  I  was 
compelled  to  make  frequent  stops  for  rest.  The 
last  mile  into  Colton  I  was  no  longer  able  to  carry 


72  PRICE  CANYON 

him,  but  dragged  him  along,  a  few  feet  at  a  time, 
between  stops  for  breath. 

When  we  finally  reached  the  steps  of  the  little 
frame  building  which  constituted  the  hotel,  I  was 
almost  as  near  in  as  my  burden,  but  the  sight  of  the 
cars  parked  around  the  building  cheered  me  up 
wonderfully.  I  found  my  company  of  scouts  dis- 
cussing plans  to  enter  the  canyon  on  a  search  for 
us  as  I  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  hotel  office. 
Unfortunately  the  little  town  was  dry.  I  say  un- 
fortunately, because  in  this  case  the  specific  needed 
for  my  guide  was  a  generous  dose  of  his  accustomed 
stimulant  more  than  any  other  remedy.  After 
searching  the  town  over  we  finally  unearthed  a  small 
bottle  of  whiskey,  and  when  a  tumblerful  of  the 
raw  poison  was  forced  down  his  throat  he  began 
to  give  signs  of  life.  In  an  hour's  time  he  seemed 
as  good  as  new  and  with  a  more  rosy  view  on  life — 


Getting  across  Eastern  Utah  was  no  play  owing  to  many 
narrow  but  steep  washes.     The  shovel  brigade  was  gen- 
erally kept  busy 


PRICE  CANYON 


73 


in  fact,  was  not  at  all  disposed  toward  quitting  this 
mundane  sphere  just  then  nor  in  the  near  future. 

When  our  party  eventually  reached  Salt  Lake 
City  we  had  spent  twelve  days  covering  the  three 
hundred  miles  from  Grand  Junction,  and  it  was 
with  genuine  regret  that  I  parted  with  those  fine 
fellows,  "the  boys  of  1912." 

I  had  the  satisfaction  within  a  year  to  pilot  my 
car  over  a  new  highway  through  Price  Canyon, 
located  on  the  route  over  which  I  had  made  the 
preliminary  investigation,  and  on  that  trip  I  trav- 
eled from  Grand  Junction  to  Salt  Lake  City  in  two 
days,  an  evidence  of  the  work  which  had  been  done 
during  the  year  to  eliminate  the  worst  places  on 
this  entire  route. 


Fording  this  river  in   Utah  was  found  a   comparatively 
easy  task,  owing  to  a  firm,  gravelly  bottom 


Pan,  My  Pal 

PAN  is  a  blue-blooded  aristocrat  with  a  family 
tree  as  old  and  a  pedigree  as  unblemished  as 
the  proudest  and  highest  in  the  "tight  little 
island"  where  Burke's  peerage  is  the  main  guide  to 
"Who  is  Who."  His  ancestors  had  carried  their 
blue  ribbons  and  bow  knots  as  proudly  as  any  duke 
his  crown  and  ermine  cloak.  Besides,  no  ermine 
cloak  could  be  more  white  and  flawless  than  the 
white  coat  which  Pan  wears.  Unlike  many  a  scion 
of  nobility,  Pan  is  true  as  steel  and  the  best  friend 
a  man  could  ever  have,  his  unselfishness  and  devo- 
tion is  something  beautiful  and  inspiring  and  his 
faithfulness  beyond  doubt.  Pan  is  a  "regular 
fellow,"  smart,  active  and  ever  alert. 

Pan  is  a  wire-haired  fox  terrier  from  the  Sabine 
Kennels,  down  in  Texas.  His  sire  was  transplanted 
to  the  banks  of  the  Sabine  from  England,  after 
having  won  pre-eminent  honors  at  the  most  impor- 
tant bench  shows,  but  now  when  he  wistfully  looks 
towards  the  East  with  homesick  longings  he  only 
sees  the  Louisiana  shore  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.  Pan  is  a  twin;  his  brother  is  called  Peter, 
and  the  pair  were  named  thus  in  honor  of  Maud 
Adams,  who  undoubtedly  never  knew  of  their  ex- 
istence, and  thus  missed  a  real  pleasure. 

When  I  first  saw  Pan  he  was  romping  around 
in  a  grass-carpeted,  wire-netted  enclosure  with 
nearly  two  hundred  playfellows,  and  a  wonderfully 
bright  and  lively  picture  they  made.  It  was  my  task 
that  morning  to  choose  from  among  this  kaleido- 
scopic jumble  of  jumping,  scampering  young  dog- 

74 


PAN,  MY  PAL 


75 


flesh  an  individual  which  appealed  to  me  the 
strongest  as  most  likely  to  become  a  boon  com- 
panion and  real  comrade  on  the  road.  A  kindly 
fairy  guided  my  judgment  and  Pan  became  our  pal 
on  many  a  transcontinental  motor  hike.  He  shares 
with  us  the  good  and  the  bad,  is  patient  and  wise, 
always  sleeps  with  one  eye  open  and  an  ear  ever 
cocked,  is  an  apt  scholar,  proud  of  what  he  has 
learned,  and  never  did  anything  deserving  chastise- 
ment but  once — and  then  he  escaped  it. 


Pan,  our  pal,  who  "knows  America,"  from  actual  observa- 
tion, better  than  the  greater  majority  of  its  people 

The  first  day  on  the  road  Pan  suffered  intensely 
from  sea-sickness,  or  rather  car-sickness,  and  refused 
to  be  comforted  and  coddled.  In  all  his  six  months 
of  existence  he  had  had  no  such  experience,  and  he 
looked  at  us  reproachfully  and  miserably  with  his 
pleading  eyes.  However,  in  a  couple  of  days  he 
began  to  take  interest  in  his  fellow  passenger  and 
to  notice  his  swiftly  changing  surroundings.  In  a 


76  PAN,  MY  PAL 

week  he  acted  like  a  seasoned  globe  trotter,  devel- 
oped an  enormous  appetite  and  soon  began,  as  we 
pulled  up  at  a  hotel  entrance  for  a  night  stop,  to 
look  at  the  hostelry  with  a  speculative  eye,  trying 
to  figure  out  in  advance  if  any  objection  would  be 
offered  to  his  sharing  our  room  with  us.  We  be- 
came so  fond  of  the  cute  little  runt  that  when  some 
landlord,  after  reasonable  pleadings,  remained  ada- 
mant in  his  objections  to  dogs,  we  would  seek  some 
other  hotel  or  even  go  to  some  other  town  rather 
than  leave  our  tiny  friend  alone  in  the  garage  for 
the  night. 

When  Pan  was  a  little  over  a  year  old  he  had 
traveled  far  and  wide  and  became  as  car  wise  as  an 
insurance  adjuster.  At  this  time  we  again  hap- 
pened to  visit  his  native  State.  Somewhere  near 
the  edge  of  the  Staked  Plain,  in  the  Panhandle, 
some  good-roads  enthusiasts  presented  our  driver 
with  a  pair  of  young  opossums,  which  he  kept  in 
the  pocket  of  one  of  the  front  doors  of  the  car, 
unknown  to  me.  The  little  things  were  only  some 
five  inches  long,  exclusive  of  their  prehensile  tails, 
and  were  quite  tame.  Pan's  continuous  interest  in 
that  corner  of  the  car  aroused  my  curiosity  and  1 
soon,  of  course,  discovered  the  cause.  The  black, 
bead-like  eyes  and  pig-like  snouts  of  the  little  pets 
did  not  appeal  to  our  party,  but  as  the  driver  prom- 
ised to  ship  them  to  his  home  when  we  reached 
Colorado,  we  raised  no  objection  to  carrying  them 
that  far.  Not  so  Pan;  he  had  to  be  continually 
restrained  from  making  a  raid  on  that  door  pocket. 

At  Colorado  Springs  we  were  the  guests  of  some 
friends,  and  here  of  course  Pan  had  to  make  the 
best  of  his  quarters  in  the  stable.  In  the  garage, 


PAN,  MY  PAL  77 

next  door  to  the  stable,  the  opossums  were  kept  in 
a  box  placed  on  a  shelf.  The  next  morning  after 
our  arrival  the  driver  announced  the  disappearance 
of  his  pets.  He  had  found  the  slats  covering  the 
box  slightly  displaced  and  the  opossums  gone.  A 
rigid  search  of  the  premises  failed  to  discover  their 
whereabouts,  but  I  noticed  that  Pan  tried  somewhat 
ostentatiously  to  look  unconcerned — in  fact,  so  much 
so  that  my  suspicion  was  aroused. 

As  we  started  to  leave  the  stable,  apparently 
satisfied  that  the  'possums  were  not  there,  I  seemed 
to  note  a  smug  look  of  satisfaction  on  Pan's  face 
and  determined  to  return  shortly.  After  a  lapse 
of  an  hour  I  came  back  stealthily  and,  upon  jerking 
the  door  suddenly  open,  found  the  little  rascal  play- 
ing with  a  'possum  tail  as  a  kitten  with  a  ball  of 
twine.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  caught  red- 
handed  and  ran  to  a  corner,  whining  for  mercy. 
That  was  the  time  he  deserved  corporal  punishment 
but  didn't  get  it.  It  was  not  in  my  heart  to  give 
him  anything  stronger  than  a  round  scolding  in 
appreciation  of  his  cunning  in  hiding  the  remains  of 
his  victims  from  our  view  when  we  first  inspected 
the  stable.  The  'possums  had  escaped  from  their 
box  and,  prowling  around,  had  gone  through  a  drain 
into  the  stable  and  here  met  their  end. 

As  I  am  writing  this,  Pan,  now  a  staid  world-wise 
dog,  with  the  experience  of  four  years  of  roaming 
over  the  highways  of  the  country  showing  in  his  wise, 
kind  eyes,  sits  at  my  feet  and  is  probably  wondering 
what  I  am  writing  about.  I  can  wish  my  friends 
nothing  better  than  the  good  fortune  to  acquire  a 
pal  like  Pan. 


Close  Connection 

BETWEEN  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  and  Ely, 
Nevada,  the  Lincoln  Highway  and  the 
Midland  Trail,  now  the  Roosevelt  Na- 
tional Highway,  coincide  for  about  three  hundred 
miles.  The  country  between  these  two  cities  is 
most  bleak  and  forbidding,  albeit  that  it  has,  like 
all  desert  regions,  a  certain  fascination  of  its  own. 
The  Great  Salt  Lake  Desert,  formerly  called  the 
Great  American  Desert  and  the  Sevier  Desert,  be- 
sides several  desert  mountain  ranges  between  the 
two  cities,  made  it  a  matter  of  great  concern  to 
locate  the  route  not  where  the  best  but  the  least 
bad  condition  prevailed.  In  hunting  for  this  least 
bad  route  I  traversed  all  the  possible  options  avail- 
able north  and  south  of  the  lake,  and  am  probably 
the  only  man  who  has  covered  them  all. 

While  the  route  as  now  located  has  been  so  far 
improved  as  not  only  to  rob  it  of  any  possible  danger 
but  even  make  traveling  over  it  a  matter  of  merely 
covering  ground  and  enjoying  the  opportunity  to 
view  this  arid  section  without  worry  or  apprehen- 
sion, it  was  entirely  another  matter  to  roam  through 
this  region  in  a  motor  car  while  searching  for  the 
line  of  least  resistance  for  a  highway,  water  being 
the  constant  anxiety  of  our  party. 

On  one  of  these  trips  we  went  south  from  Ely 
via  Newhouse  to  Milford,  Utah,  and  made  this 
little  town  without  serious  hardships.  From  Mil- 
ford  our  route  lay  northeast  across  a  corner  of  the 
Sevier  Desert,  and  we  learned  that  there  was  no 
water  for  about  forty-five  miles.  As  a  strong  wind 

78 


CLOSE  CONNECTION  79 

blew  from  the  southwest,  thus  compelling  us  to 
travel  with  it,  we  were  somewhat  apprehensive  in 
regard  to  having  our  motor  overheat,  and  conse- 
quently loaded  our  car  with  extra  water  containers, 
so  that  on  starting  out  we  carried  an  extra  supply 
of  twelve  gallons  of  water  for  our  radiator,  surely 
enough,  as  we  thought,  to  cover  all  contingencies. 
My  wife,  the  mechanic  and  I  made  up  the  party 
of  three. 

We  had  not  gone  far  from  Milford,  traveling  in 
a  cloud  of  our  own  dust  carried  on  the  breeze  at 
about  the  same  speed  as  our  own,  when  our  motor 
ran  hot.  With  only  slight  concern  we  stopped  and 
filled  the  radiator.  After  a  while  we  had  to  stop 
and  repeat  this  performance  every  little  while,  and 
eventually,  some  thirty  miles  out,  our  extra  water 
supply  ran  so  low  that  I  realized  we  would  only 
have  enough  for  possibly  another  five  miles,  and 
that  would  be  ten  miles  short  of  the  place  where 
we  had  been  told  we  would  find  water.  In  fact,  it 
might  be  further  than  ten  miles,  as  the  estimate 
of  distances  in  those  days,  when  motor  cars  were 
rare,  often  was  a  matter  of  mere  guesswork. 

Before  we  had  covered  even  the  five  miles  we 
were  entirely  out  of  water  and  the  engine  was  boil- 
ing hot.  We  were  compelled  to  stop.  From  a 
nearby  knoll  I  surveyed  the  entire  surrounding 
country.  There  was  nothing  in  sight  but  sandy 
wastes  with  black  lava  hills  jutting  out  here  and 
there.  Things  looked  indeed  gloomy,  as  being 
stalled  in  that  arid  country,  waterless,  was  really 
more  than  serious. 

My  wife,  who  from  long  experience  in  roughing 
it  never  loses  heart,  then  hit  upon  a  bright  idea.  In 


80  CLOSE  CONNECTION 

a  box  in  the  tonneau  we  had  six  bottles  of  carefully 
packed  and  much  treasured  claret  of  a  choice  vint- 
age, made  and  presented  to  us  by  a  friend  in  Cali- 
fornia who  owned  a  fine  vineyard.  Friend  wife 
generously  offered  to  sacrifice  the  wine  and  accord- 
ingly the  box  was  opened  and  the  contents  of  the 
bottles  poured  into  the  radiator,  which  was  hardly 
more  thirsty  than  ourselves.  Nevertheless,  we  re- 
frained from  sharing  even  a  tiny  drop  with  our 
motor,  which  took  it  all  and  could  have  used  more 
when  the  last  bottle  was  emptied. 

With  new  heart  we  cranked  up  and  proceeded, 
the  motor  doing  very  well  on  its  unaccustomed  diet. 
However,  in  a  couple  of  miles  we  were  again  com- 
pelled to  stop  from  the  same  old  cause,  and  we  were 
now  without  further  resources.  About  a  hundred 
yards  ahead  was  a  slight  elevation,  and  in  order  to 
take  another  look  around — which,  however,  I  felt 
in  my  heart  would  be  entirely  useless,  I  climbed  up 
the  slight  grade,  and  to  my  utter  astonishment  there 
appeared  less  than  another  hundred  feet  away — a 
pool  of  water. 

I  rubbed  my  eyes  and  looked  again,  to  make  sure 
it  was  not  one  of  those  cruel  desert  mirages.  But 
no,  there  it  was.  True,  it  was  murky  and  dark 
green,  but  it  was  water,  really  wet  water.  It 
seemed  too  good  to  be  believed  all  at  once.  The 
liquid  was  unfit  to  drink,  and  though  we  suffered 
keenly  from  thirst  we  were  compelled  to  confine 
ourselves  to  filling  radiator  and  the  extra  contain- 
ers. Some  twelve  miles  further  and  we  were  out 
of  the  desert  and  among  cedar-grown  hills,  and  here 
we  found  the  ranch  house  of  a  Mormon,  where  a 
bubbling  spring  of  cool  water  made  us  all  forget 


CLOSE  CONNECTION 


81 


the  past  danger  of  the  day.  The  ranchman,  about 
whose  house  some  dozen  children  of  very  nearly 
the  same  age  were  playing  and  staring  at  us  with 
a  curiosity  indicating  the  rarity  of  visits  from  people 
of  the  outside,  assured  us  that  he  had  never  known 
water  to  remain  for  any  length  of  time  in  any  of 
the  many  depressions  of  the  lava-strewn  region 
where  we  found  it,  and  assured  us  there  had  been 
no  rain  in  the  region  for  months.  Yet  we  found  it. 


Deadly  Figures 

NEXT  to  being  asked  what  tires  I  use  and 
can  recommend,  the  question  probably  most 
often    put    to    me    is    how    many    miles    I 
have   traveled    in   my   many   years   of    pathfinding. 
My  answer  is  invariably  that  I  do  not  know,  though 
I   have  most   likely   traveled   more   different    (note 
the  different)   miles  on  rubber  tires  than  any  man 
in  the  world.     This  I  believe  to  be  true. 

When  anyone  makes  an  offhand  statement  that 
he  has  traveled  two  or  three  or  four  or  even  five 
hundred  thousand  miles,  he  should  not  be  taken  too 
seriously.  Just  apply  the  yardstick  to  these  figures 


The  "Pull  the  State  out  of  the  mud"  campaign   in  Ohio 

and  Michigan  had  ample  justification  and  is  being  pushed 

with  excellent  effect 

82 


DEADLY   FIGURES  83 

and  note  how  they  dwindle.  I  noted  in  the  press 
only  recently  that  a  comparatively  young  man  had 
traveled  about  eight  hundred  thousand  miles  in  fif- 
teen years  and  that  he  hoped  to  cover  a  round 
million,  or  a  distance  equal  to  forty  times  around 
the  earth  at  the  equator. 

Let  us  stop  for  a  moment  and  analyze  these 
figures.  Eight  hundred  thousand  miles  in  fifteen 
years  makes  fifty-three  thousand  three  hundred  and 
thirty-three  miles  a  year,  or  over  one  hundred  and 
forty-one  miles  a  day  for  every  day  in  the  year — 
Sunday,  holiday  and  weekday.  If  a  day  should  be 
missed  it  would  be  necessary  to  double  up  the  next 
day  or  to  cover  over  two  hundred  and  eighty-two 
miles.  To  do  this  summer  and  winter,  rain  or 
shine,  mud  or  snow,  for  fifteen  consecutive  years  is, 
of  course,  preposterous.  That  anyone  has  covered 
one-half  that  distance  in  that  time  is  not  impossible, 
but  hardly  within  the  range  of  probability. 

I  confine  myself  to  the  safe  statement  that  I  have 
made  more  motor  trips  across  the  United  States, 
East  and  West,  North  and  South,  than  any  other 
man,  and  that  these  trips  were  mostly  over  different 
routes. 


The  Black  River  Crossing 

ON  THE  "Trail-to-Sunset"— later  called  the 
Apache  Trail  because  it  leads  through  the 
Apache  Indian  Reservation  and  connects 
Springerville,  Arizona,  and  the  National  Old  Trails 
route  with  Phoenix  via  Fort  Apache,  Globe  and 
Roosevelt  Dam — the  Black  River  separates  the 
White  Mountains  from  the  Natanes  Range. 

When  I  arrived  at  Fort  Apache,  in  the  spring  of 
1911,  with  the  first  transcontinental  truck  and  its 
crew,  after  spending  eight  days  covering  forty-two 
miles  across  the  White  Mountain  plateau,  we  were 
all  of  us  about  ready  for  a  rest.  In  discussing  the 
trail  across  the  Black  River,  some  twenty  miles 
south  of  the  army  post,  with  the  commanding  officer, 
I  learned  that  the  river  was  at  flood  stage  and  that 
three  army  wagons  and  a  company  of  soldiers,  re- 
turning from  the  Mexican  border,  had  been  in  camp 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river  for  a  week  waiting 
for  the  water  to  subside  in  order  to  be  able  to  ford 
across. 

As  I  had  crossed  at  this  place  the  previous  fall 
and  was  acquainted  with  the  lay  of  the  land  at  the 
crossing  and  also  because  I  felt  that  I  knew  what 
my  crew  could  accomplish  with  the  truck,  I  made 
the  proposition  to  the  commanding  officer  that  if 
he  would  furnish  me  with  a  troop  of  cavalry,  twenty 
strong,  I  would  guarantee  to  get  his  army  wagons 
across  after  having  crossed  with  the  truck.  He 
readily  accepted  my  proposition  and  next  morning 
I  learned  that  the  troop  had  started  out  at  daylight 
and  would  be  at  the  crossing  when  we  arrived. 

84 


THE   BLACK   RIVER  CROSSING  85 


The  first  transcontinental  truck   crossing   the  plateau   of 

the     White    mountains    in    the    lands    of    the    Apaches, 

Arizona,  at  an  elevation  of  9000  ft. 

The  trail  leads  through  a  very  rough  and  broken 
country,  the  former  stronghold  of  the  notorious 
chief  Geronimo  and  his  band  of  murderous  Apaches, 
where  plenty  remote  and  secure  hiding  places 
abounded.  Our  progress  over  the  twisting,  uneven 
and  often  steep  trail  was  naturally  slow  and  it  was 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  before  we  arrived  at  the 
river,  where  we  found  the  cavalry  encamped. 

The  Black  River  is  a  swift  mountain  stream  and 
only  some  seventy-five  feet  wide.  Upon  looking 
on  the  racing,  leaping  and  dancing  current  I  confess 
that  I  felt  somewhat  uncertain  that  we  would  be 
able  to  make  our  words  good.  However,  the  officer 
of  the  post  like  a  good  sportsman  had  called  my 
bluff,  though  when  made  it  was  not  intended  as 
such,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  make  the 
attempt.  The  truck  was  a  seven-ton  affair,  as  big 
as  a  furniture  van,  and  was  heavily  loaded,  hence 


86  THE   BLACK  RIVER  CROSSING 

I  scarcely  feared  that  it  would  be  swept  off  its  feet 
— or  rather  wheels.  But  it  was  difficult  to  gauge 
the  depth  of  the  stream  on  account  of  the  swift 
current,  and  besides  I  knew  that  several  large 
boulders  were  in  the  river-bed,  and  these  of  course 
could  not  be  seen  for  the  same  reason. 

One  of  the  cavalrymen  volunteered  to  cross  with 
a  thin  clothesline,  swimming  his  horse  across.  The 
animal  was  instantly  swept  off  its  feet  and  landed 
on  the  opposite  shore  more  than  five  hundred  feet 
down  stream.  After  coming  up  to  a  point  opposite 
the  truck  the  trooper  attempted  with  help  of  the 
soldiers  at  the  army  wagons  to  pull  a  heavy  rope 
with  block  and  tackle  arrangement  across.  The 
raging  current,  getting  a  good  hold  of  the  four 
strands  of  rope,  threatened  to  pull  the  entire  crew 
into  the  water  before  it  was  pulled  half  way  across. 
The  spray  spouted  many  feet  in  the  air  when  the 
current  struck  the  rope. 

A  pair  of  army  mules  were  hitched  to  the  thin 
line,  which  in  addition  was  run  around  a  nearby 
tree.  This  accomplished  the  end  desired  and  the 
block  and  tackle  was  made  fast  to  a  big  tree.  Four 
mules  were  hitched  on  and  slowly  the  big  truck 
nosed  its  way  into  the  water.  Gradually,  inch  by 
inch,  it  crept  across,  luckily  missing  the  boulders, 
though  it  partly  climbed  one  of  them  and  slid  off. 
These  were  anxious  moments.  When  the  vehicle 
had  reached  midstream  the  top  of  the  radiator  was 
barely  visible  above  the  water.  The  magneto  and 
carburetor  had,  of  course,  been  removed. 

Upon  nearing  the  far  bank  the  ascent  was  quite 
steep  and  the  water  deepest.  The  mules  pulled 
their  best  with  every  ounce  of  strength  on  the 


THE   BLACK  RIVER  CROSSING 


87 


hames,  the  rope  creaked  and  groaned  and  every  man 
held  his  breath.  When  finally  the  truck  stood  on 
the  other  bank,  high  and  dry,  the  crossing  accom- 
plished successfully,  there  was  a  release  of  pent-up 
feelings  and  a  lusty  cheer  issued  from  every  throat. 
As  for  myself  it  was  a  moment  of  supreme  satis- 
faction, this  successfully  having  accomplished  some- 
thing which  had  been  supposed  to  be  undoable. 

But  the  rub  was  that  I  was  still  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  river,  as  I  had  remained  to  take  photo- 
graphs of  the  task  in  hand.  There  was  nothing  else 
to  do  but  emulate  the  trooper  who  had  swum  his 
horse  across.  Bidding  a  hearty  goodby  to  the  com- 
pany and  mounting  one  of  the  horses,  I  plunged  in 
with  a  camera  held  high  above  my  head  in  each 
hand.  The  well-trained  horse  seemed  to  know  just 
what  was  expected  of  him  and  pluckily  fought  the 


The  first  transcontinental  truck,  stemming  the  swift  cur- 
rent of  the  Black  River  in  the  Apache  country  of  Arizona. 
The  difficulties   of   the    crossing   were   much   aggravated 
by  the  presence  of  large  boulders  in  the  river  bed 


88  THE   BLACK  RIVER  CROSSING 

grasping  current,  while  I  had  quite  a  job  to  stay 
on  with  the  water  up  to  my  waist  at  times  and  both 
arms  high  in  the  air. 

When  the  other  bank  was  safely  attained  there 
remained  yet  the  task  of  getting  the  army  wagons 
across.  This  was  accomplished  by  loading  them 
heavily  with  boulders  and  reversing  the  operation 
used  with  the  truck,  while  the  soldiers  swam  the 
mules  across.  Just  as  night  fell  the  work  was  done. 
We  went  into  camp  where  the  soldiers  had  been 
encamped  so  long  and  the  campfire  of  the  troops 
soon  lighted  up  the  opposite  shore.  By  daybreak 
the  bugle  sounded  and  with  shouts  of  godspeed  we 
parted  company  in  opposite  directions. 

Today  there  is  a  bridge  at  this  crossing,  but  al- 
most every  spring  flood  of  this  turbulent  stream 
causes  serious  damage  to  it  and  entails  extensive 
repairs.  At  least  two  bridges  have  been  swept  away 
by  the  flood  from  this  location. 


Just  Frogs 

A^  ONE  time,  while  traveling  over  what  was 
later  named  the  George  Washington  High- 
way in  South  Dakota,  I  encountered  a  most 
curious  phenomenon.  I  had  heard  that  once  in  a 
blue  moon  such  incidents  happened  in  various  sec- 
tions of  the  prairie  states,  but  had  never  before, 
nor  have  I  since,  experienced  anything  like  it. 

As  we  motored  along  a  natural  prairie  road  an 
immense  black  cloud  was  racing  fast  towards  us, 
portending  one  of  those  cloudbursts  which  so  often 
visit  the  prairie  country  at  any  uncertain  time  dur- 
ing the  hot  summer  months.  On  meeting  the  blast 
of  cold  wind  which  indicated  that  the  downpour 
might  start  any  moment,  we  hastened  to  get  out  the 
curtains  and  fasten  them  on  the  car.  But  as  almost 
everyone  who  has  had  occasion  to  do  a  similar  stunt 
in  a  jiffy  will  know,  the  right  curtains  got  in  the 
wrong  place  and  vice  versa,  so  that  by  the  time 
we  had  them  properly  sorted  and  really  were  on  the 
way  to  do  the  thing  right,  the  storm  struck  us. 

We  had  to  abandon  the  effort  and  hopped  into 
the  car  to  get  under  cover.  Here  we  huddled,  hold- 
ing the  curtains  before  us  as  shields  against  the  fierce 
slanting  rain  which  literally  fell  in  sheets  while 
flashes  of  lightning  played  about  us  continuously. 
These  sudden  storms  on  the  open  prairie  are  no 
jokes,  and  as  no  one  knows  where  lightning  may 
strike  we  certainly  spent  an  anxious  fifteen  minutes. 

Shortly  the  storm  had  passed  over.  Our  cover 
had  been  insufficient  and  in  spite  of  our  attempts 
to  protect  ourselves  we  were  wet  as  drowned  rats. 

89 


90  JUST   FROGS 

The  whole  inside  of  the  car  was  also  wet  and  full 
of  hopping,  wriggling  little  black  things  which  gave 
us  all  a  creepy  feeling.  They  proved  to  be  tiny 
frogs  about  the  size  of  a  man's  thumbnail.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  sun  appeared  and  we  saw  the  road 
ahead  and  the  ground  in  all  directions  just  black 
with  little  frogs,  which  jumped,  lively  and  frisky, 
in  all  directions.  There  were  millions  upon  millions 
of  them.  It  was  impossible  to  set  a  foot  down 
without  crushing  dozens  of  the  creatures. 

After  putting  on  skid  chains  we  proceeded  slowly 
and  for  five  miles  saw  frogs  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see  in  all  directions.  Then  all  at  once  we  were 
out  of  this  area  of  animate  things  and  it  felt  almost 
like  reaching  shore  after  a  voyage  through  turbulent 
seas.  For  every  revolution  of  the  wheels  our  tires 
crushed  hundreds  of  frogs  and  we  must  have  killed 
millions  of  them  before  reaching  what  may  be 
termed  dry  ground. 

The  theory  of  local  people  who  have  seen  similar 
phenomena  is  that  these  frogs  are  sucked  up  out  of 
a  swampy  region  by  a  waterspout  and  carried  a 
great  distance,  possibly  a  hundred  or  more  miles, 
before  some  atmospheric  condition  is  encountered 
which  causes  the  precipitation.  It  certainly  was  an 
eerie  experience. 


Diamondbacks 

HAVING  motored  into  so  many  remote 
regions,  far  from  habitations,  in  all  of 
our  Western,  Southwestern  and  Southern 
States,  I  have  seen  thousands  of  rattlesnakes  of 
many  different  varieties,  from  the  almost  black 
swamp  rattler  of  Florida  to  the  small  sidewinder 
of  the  Colorado  desert,  in  California;  from  the 
green  rattler  of  the  Staked  Plains  to  the  pale,  dusty 
specimen  of  western  Kansas,  and  the  vicious  kind 
in  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  of  New  Mexico;  even 
the  rock  "varmint"  of  Nevada  and  the  kind  that 
the  Hopi  Indians — who  seemingly  are  immune 
against  their  poison — carry  in  their  mouths  during 
the  weird  snake  dances.  But,  in  my  opinion,  the 
Texas  diamondback  rattlesnake,  found  in  the  mes- 
quite  chaparral  along  the  lower  reaches  of  the  Rio 
Grande  Valley,  takes  first  prize  both  for  size  and 
general  cussed  viciousness. 

At  one  time  while  I  was  traveling  a  few  miles 
back  from  the  Rio  Grande,  going  from  Eagle  Pass 
to  La  Pryor,  we  were  following  a  lonely  trail 
through  the  chaparral  when,  on  account  of  the  sand 
and  general  heavy  condition  of  the  going,  dusk  over- 
took us  while  we  were  yet  many  miles  from  our 
destination  for  the  night.  It  was  an  unusually  mild 
evening,  following  the  first  really  warm  day  of  the 
early  spring.  We  had  seen  no  snakes  at  all  during 
many  days  of  travel  in  that  country  and  assumed 
that  they  were  still  hibernating. 

As  the  day  was  waning  we  saw  our  first  snake 
and  thought  nothing  of  it.  Shortly  we  ran  across 

91 


92 


DIAMONDBACKS 


another  in  the  middle  of  the  trail,  and  from  then 
on  for  the  next  hour  saw  more  rattlesnakes  than 
we  ever  had  in  all  our  lifetime  before.  They  all 
seemed  to  be  in  the  trail,  and  we  drove  over  and 
crushed  several  hundreds  of  them.  They  all  were 
of  unusually  great  size,  full-grown  specimens,  and 
evidently  had  all  emerged  from  their  winter  quar- 
ters at  the  same  time,  called  forth  by  the  warm 
spring  day. 

One  particular  chap  was  of  such  great  size  that 
I  stepped  out  of  the  car  to  kill  him  for  his  skin. 
He  retreated  to  a  small  bush  near  the  edge  of  the 
trail  and  fought  back  fiercely,  making  repeated 
strikes  at  the  heavy  stick  with  which  I  belabored 
him.  It  was  my  intention  to  injure  his  skin  as 
little  as  possible,  and  it  took  some  time  to  dispatch 
him,  as  he  seemed  to  have  more  than  the  nine  lives 
traditionally  allotted  to  the  cat.  However,  he 


The    mesquite   chaparral   of   the   Rio    Grande   border   in 

Texas  is  the  home  of  the  diamond-back  rattlesnake,  the 

largest  of  this  species  of  poisonous  reptiles 


DIAMONDBACKS  93 

finally  had  to  give  up,  and  I  slung  him  on  the 
running  board  while  his  jaws  were  yet  spasmodically 
making  their  plucky,  dying  attempts  to  open  and 
strike. 

Next  morning  I  had  a  Mexican  skin  him.  This 
was  done  by  cutting  off  his  head  and  tail  and  turn- 
ing his  skin  inside  out,  peeling  it  off  the  carcass. 
The  skin  was  then  reversed,  the  tail  end  tied  with 
a  string,  and  the  snake's  beautifully  marked  cover 
filled  with  cornmeal  to  absorb  all  the  moisture  from 
its  inside.  Finally,  the  head  opening  was  tied  se- 
curely with  a  string,  and  the  affair,  looking  like 
a  huge  sausage,  was  thrown  across  some  of  the 
baggage  in  the  tonneau.  I  noticed  the  Mexican 
carefully  buried  the  broad,  arrow-shaped  head  of 
the  snake  in  order  to  remove  the  danger  of  anyone 
stepping  on  it  and  possibly  being  poisoned  by  its 
fangs. 

When  we  pulled  up  to  the  door  of  one  of  the 
hotels  in  San  Antonio,  one  of  the  negro  bellhops 
solicitously  came  out  to  help  remove  the  baggage. 
His  eyes  fairly  bulged  and  his  complexion  turned 
almost  pale  with  fright  when  he  reached  in  for  the 
suitcases  and  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  the  filled 
snakeskin.  With  a  howl  he  jumped  back  and  no 
argument  could  induce  him  to  again  approach  the 
car  until  I  had  removed  the  "snake."  To  tell  the 
truth,  this  descendant  of  the  tempter  of  the  Garden 
of  Eden  did  look  mighty  lifelike  until  one  noticed 
the  absence  of  its  terminal  extremities. 

It  was  a  real  Texas  diamondback,  the  pattern 
on  its  back  being  most  clearly  marked  in  black, 
gray  and  white,  a  really  rattling  big  rattler. 


The  Top  of  the  Cascades 

FOR  some  years  after  the  advent  of  the  auto- 
mobile the  State  of  Washington,  as  far  as 
concerned  motor  vehicle  traffic,  was  to  all 
practical  purposes  almost  like  two  different  hemi- 
spheres. The  great  ''Inland  Empire,"  as  the  East 
Washingtonians  proudly,  and  with  justice,  like  to 
call  their  part  of  the  State,  was  practically  isolated 
from  the  Puget  Sound  counties  by  the  Cascade 
range  of  mountains,  except  for  a  rough  trail  with 
steep  grades  through  the  dense  forest  which  clad 
Snoqualmie  Pass.  This  corduroyed  and  slab-lum- 
bered trail  was  in  fact  so  exceedingly  difficult  to 
negotiate  and  its  passage  attended  with  such  hazards 
and  strain  on  the  heavy,  low-powered  motor  cars 
of  that  day  that  the  motorists  who  crossed  the  range 
in  a  season  could  almost  be  counted  on  the  fingers 
of  one  hand.  In  addition  to  the  difficulty  of  the 
pass,  the  necessity  of  ferrying  five  miles  along  the 
shores  of  Lake  Ketchelus  was  another  deterrent,  as 
the  ferry  service,  intended  for  the  limited  horse- 
drawn  traffic  which  found  its  way  over  this  route, 
was  very  primitive  and  uncertain. 

This  was  the  condition  when  I  laid  out  what  I 
called  the  Northwest  Trail  from  Chicago  to  Seattle, 
which  route  is  now  called  the  National  Parks  High- 
way, because  it  gives  access  by  short  side  trips  from 
the  main  trunk  line  to  three  national  parks — the 
Yellowstone,  Glacier  and  Mount  Rainier.  After 
plowing  through  deep  dust,  a  sort  of  volcanic  ash, 
in  Central  Washington,  crossing  the  apple  belt  of 
the  Columbia  River  country,  and  making  the  pas- 

94 


The  sawtooth   peaks   of   the   Cascade  Mountains,   at   the 

summit    of   Snoqualmie   Pass    in    Washington,    make   this 

region  one  of  the  most  rugged  in  the   United  States 


96  THE    TOP  OF   THE   CASCADES 

sage  over  Blewett  Pass,  the  first  car  to  accomplish 
this  feat — and  it  was  some  difficult  task,  with  the 
steep  grades  and  many  unbridged  boulder-strewn 
crossings  of  Peshastin  Creek — we  finally  arrived  at 
the  shores  of  Lake  Ketchelus. 

We  rang  the  bell  which  was  placed  here  to  call 
the  ferry  from  its  "home  port,"  some  five  miles 
distant,  the  sound  being  perfectly  audible  even  that 
far  away  in  this  silent  solitude,  and,  in  fact,  much 
intensified  by  the  echo  which  was  thrown  back  as 
from  a  sounding-board  by  the  forest-clad,  steep 
shores.  After  nearly  two  hours'  wait  we  managed 
with  great  care  to  embark  the  car  on  the  none  too 
safe-appearing  old  scow  which,  in  connection  with  a 
tiny  gasolene-motored  launch,  constituted  the  ferry. 
This  ferry,  by  the  way,  was  made  unnecessary  the 
following  year  by  reason  of  the  construction  of  a 
highway  along  the  shore  of  the  lake.  On  disem- 
barking we  set  out  at  once  up  the  trail  towards  the 
summit  of  the  Cascades,  which  like  saw-teeth 
pierced  the  sky  ahead  of  us.  The  ascent  was  fairly 
gradual,  with  occasional  steep  pitches,  but  the  trail 
itself  was  exceedingly  rough  and  narrow,  winding 
in  and  out  among  giant  pines  and  firs. 

In  the  middle  of  one  of  these  steep  places  we 
encountered  an  old  man  who  was  endeavoring  to 
coax  an  emaciated  old  horse  to  exert  another  ounce 
of  effort  in  attempting  to  drag  a  dilapidated  buggy 
up  the  trail.  The  bony  structure  of  the  horse  was 
so  evident  under  its  gray,  mangy  skin  that  he  ap- 
peared more  like  a  skeleton  of  a  horse  than  one  of 
flesh  and  blood.  The  buggy  was  held  together  with 
generous  applications  and  sundry  bandages  of  baling 
wire.  All  in  all,  the  whole  outfit — man,  horse  and 


THE   TOP  OF   THE   CASCADES  97 

buggy — was    about    as   nearly    played    out    as    any 
outfit  I  had  ever  seen  in  all  my  travels. 

As  neither  kicks,  curses  nor  kind  words  seemed 
to  have  any  effect  on  the  poor  brute  in  the  shafts, 
and  as  it  was  impossible  in  that  particular  spot  to 
drive  around  this  archaic  assembly,  we  stopped  the 
car  and  offered  to  help.  Putting  shoulders  to  the 
wheels,  we  pushed  the  buggy  as  well  as  the  horse 
along  for  a  couple  of  feet,  when  the  worn  equine, 
evidently  thinking  it  was  time  for  a  real  siesta,  or 
possibly  figuring  that  we  might  carry  him  as  well 
as  the  buggy  to  the  top  of  the  grade,  lay  down  in 
the  shafts  with  a  thud,  breaking  at  the  same  time 
one  of  the  shafts  and  the  single-tree.  Unhitching 
the  ropes,  which  served  for  harness,  and  backing  the 
buggy,  we  fixed  up  the  damage  with  wire,  with 


Volcanic  ash,  'which  forms  the  soil  of  the  lower  Yakima 
River  country  in  Washington,  may  be  great  for  raising 
crops  but,  being  almost  gritless  like  flour,  is  a  very  unsat- 
isfactory material  for  roads.  Great  clouds  of  floating 
dust  hover  for  hours  over  the  country  after  the  passage 
of  a  motor  car  during  dry  weather 


98  THE   TOP   OF   THE   CASCADES 

which  the  buggy  was  principally  loaded,  and  then 
tried  to  induce  the  horse  to  realize  that  it  was 
entirely  unethical  to  slumber  in  the  middle  of  the 
trail,  at  least  out  of  hours.  But  he  refused  to 
understand  our  various  arguments,  unconcernedly 
stretching  out  on  his  side  and  continuing  his  visit 
to  horse  heaven,  the  old  gentleman  in  the  meantime 
insisting  that  his  faithful  friend  was  neither  balky 
nor  worn  out — no,  sir,  no  more  than  he  was  him- 
self— but  merely  a  little  tired.  And  when  he  be- 
came tired,  he  usually  took  a  rest. 

As  the  old  man's  appearance  seemed  to  point  to 
an  age  of  close  to  four  score  years,  and  conveyed 
no  indication  of  prosperity  or  means  of  feeding 
either  himself  or  his  horse,  this  assurance  was  not 
very  encouraging.  However,  his  story  proved  in- 
teresting, as  he  told  of  his  having  traveled  all  the 
way  from  Texas  with  his  outfit ;  had  spent  seven 
months  on  the  trail  and  was  headed  for  Canada, 
where  he  had  heard  there  were  fine  chances  to  get 
free  land  and  opportunities  were  offered  to  "get 
ahead"  for  anyone  that  was  strong  and  willing  to 
work.  He  presented  such  an  illuminating  example 
of  optimism  and  undiluted  pluck  that  we  were  forced 
to  gaze  at  the  man  in  wonder  and  admiration. 

Meanwhile,  the  horse  had  evidently  figured  out 
that  there  was  nothing  further  to  be  gained  by 
playing  'possum,  so  he  struggled  to  his  feet  and 
started  wabbling  ahead,  and  we  wisely  let  him  go 
to  get  him  out  of  the  way.  Hauling  and  pushing 
the  buggy  to  the  top,  we  found  him  calmly  waiting 
to  be  again  tied  to  the  shafts.  He  positively  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  support  of  the  two  wooden  braces,  as 
they  furnished  him  something  to  lean  on.  With  a 


The    pathfinder,    passing    through    the    giant    forest    of 

Snoqualmie    Pass,     Washington,     made     his     way     over 

atrocious  corduroy  roads  like  these,  now  replaced  by  an 

excellent  highway 


100  THE   TOP   OF   THE   CASCADES 

generous  donation  from  our  commissary,  we  left 
the  old  gentleman  and  his  horse  with  the  best  wishes 
for  a  successful  ending  of  his  adventure.  I  can 
almost  assert  that  I  saw  the  old  joker  of  a  horse 
slyly  wink  at  me  as  I  turned  in  the  car  to  wave 
a  final  greeting  to  his  master  as  we  forged  ahead. 
How  on  earth  this  outfit  negotiated  the  grades  that 
we  found  farther  up  the  trail  has  always  been  a 
mystery  to  me. 

After  battling  with  the  rotten  corduroy  road, 
which  by  reason  of  the  fact  that  the  sun  never  pene- 
trated through  the  dense  tops  of  the  immense  forest 
trees  was  everywhere  slippery  and  slimy,  we 
eventually  found  good  going  at  North  Bend  and 
arrived  at  Seattle  safely.  The  photographs  which 
1  had  taken  to  show  the  condition  of  this  sole  route 
for  vehicle  connection  between  the  east  and  west 
part  of  the  state  was  so  convincing,  when  repro- 
duced in  the  Seattle  papers,  accompanied  by  a  story 
of  the  state  of  affairs  and  the  importance  of  having 
them  remedied,  that  a  movement  was  set  on  foot 
to  effect  necessary  improvements.  Two  years  sub- 
sequently an  $800,000  highway  with  easy  grades 
throughout  carried  the  increasing  motor-car  traffic 
through  Snoqualmie  Pass.  This  year  and  next, 
1920  and  1921,  the  highway  will  be  paved  with 
concrete. 


In  the  Bighorns 

SOME  years  ago  I  made  a  survey  of  the  Black 
and  Yellow  Trail,  which  is  a  direct  cross- 
country route  from  Minneapolis  to  the  Yel- 
lowstone National  Park,  and  gets  its  name  because 
it  runs  through  the  Black  Hills  of  South  Dakota 
and  Yellowstone  Park.  It  crosses  the  northern  part 
of  Wyoming  and  in  this  region  traverses  a  rough 
and  unsettled  country,  running  across  a  region  of 
so-called  "bad  lands,"  besides  crossing  the  Bighorn 
mountains  and  the  Powder  and  Bighorn  rivers. 

We  traveled  with  two  cars,  a  large  one  for  carry- 
ing passengers  and  their  personal  baggage,  and  a 
small,  light  car  to  carry  tents  and  general  camp 
equipment.  We  encountered  considerable  rough 
going  in  South  Dakota,  at  one  time  passing  through 
a  large  section  where  dry  farming  had  been  at- 
tempted by  many  settlers  who  had  been  induced  by 
unscrupulous  land  agents  to  buy  land  at  low  rates 
and  on  long  payments,  only  to  be  compelled  to  give 
up  the  hopeless  task  of  raising  crops  after  several 
years  of  deprivation  and  hardships.  They  had 
simply  left  for  other  parts,  abandoning  their  equity 
in  the  lands  and  all  improvements.  Their  aban- 
doned dugouts  or  small  shacks  dotted  this  region 
and  remained  as  monuments  to  their  brave  efforts 
and  blasted  ambitions  to  be  self-supporting  and  pro- 
ducing owners  of  homes.  These  were  indeed  monu- 
ments of  sadness,  failure  and  despair. 

Near  Huron  we  passed  a  large  ranch  owned  by 
a  half-breed  Indian,  on  which  he  raised  buffaloes. 
The  American  bison,  even  those  kept  on  fenced 

101 


102  IN   THE   BIGHORNS 

ranches,  had  become  so  scarce  since  their  extermina- 
tion as  wild  game,  that  specimens  were  in  much 
demand  for  zoological  gardens  all  over  the  country, 
and  this  particular  herd  had  so  dwindled  that  their 
owner  desired  to  dispose  of  those  remaining,  some 
fifty  animals.  They  were  offered  to  the  United 
States  Government,  but,  through  parsimony,  red 
tape,  or  lack  of  foresight,  or  possibly  a  mixture  of 
all  three,  the  negotiations  were  so  prolonged  that 
the  owner  of  the  herd  accepted  an  offer  for  them 
from  the  Canadian  Government,  and  these  splendid, 
slow-breeding  animals  were  thus  lost  to  our  country. 

Leaving  Deadwood,  in  the  Black  Hills,  where  the 
surrounding  rich  mining  region  has  much  besides 
the  tales  of  the  exploits  of  Deadwood  Dick  and  the 
experiences  of  the  Deadwood  stage  to  make  it  fa- 
mous, we  traveled  via  the  poetically  named  town  of 
Sundance,  reminiscent  of  Indian  ceremonies,  and 
across  the  "bad  lands,"  a  region  where  nothing  but 
sage  brush  grows — and  often  not  even  that — to 
Buffalo,  and  then  entered  the  Bighorn  mountains 
after  descending  the  steep  grade  of  Crazy  Woman's 
Hill,  on  the  creek  of  the  same  euphonious  name. 

Everything  went  well  and  we  expected  to  reach 
Ten  Sleep — another  illuminating  Indian  name,  one 
sleep  meaning  a  day's  travel — by  night.  As  the 
trail  was  very  dim  we  hesitated  at  one  place,  where 
it  forked  and  either  trail  showed  about  the  same 
usage,  or  rather  lack  of  usage;  and,  as  most  often 
is  the  case,  he  who  hesitates  is  lost.  Thus  we  chose 
the  wrong  fork,  and  after  ascending  and  descending 
several  steep  moraines  which  tested  our  cars  to  the 
utmost,  we  finally  attained  the  crest  of  the  moun- 
tains, where  my  aneroid  showed  an  altitude  of  9,500 


IN   THE    BIGHORNS  103 

feet.  It  was  now  near  dusk  and  I  realized  we  had 
taken  the  wrong  fork,  some  fifteen  miles  back.  To 
make  matters  worse,  as  we  were  struggling  out  of 
a  small  swampy  spot  the  strain  became  too  great  for 
metal  to  stand  and  our  rear  live  axle  snapped. 

Here  was  a  cheerful  situation:  forty  miles  from 
the  nearest  habitation,  which  was  at  Ten  Sleep ; 
nearly  two  miles  up  in  the  air,  and,  to  cap  the 
climax,  a  very  slender  supply  in  our  commissary 
box.  Although  it  was  practically  midsummer,  only 
barely  past  the  middle  of  August,  the  evening  and 
night  was  bitterly  cold  and  the  blazing  logs  of  the 
campfire  felt  very  grateful.  Realizing  that  we 
would  be  out  of  food  in  another  twenty-four  hours, 
I  was  mighty  glad  that  we  had  two  cars  with  us. 
Next  morning  the  small  car  was  dispatched  to  Ten 
Sleep  to  have  the  broken  axle  welded,  if  perchance 
there  was  a  blacksmith  in  the  little  town;  if  not, 
it  would  have  to  proceed  to  Worland,  another  forty 
miles  beyond  and  rough  going  all  the  way.  In 
either  case  it  would  be  gone  at  least  two  days,  so 
that  the  prospects  of  reduced  rations  for  the  remain- 
ing party  loomed  bright  ineed. 

Strolling  around  the  neighborhood  of  the  camp 
during  the  day,,  it  seemed  to  me  on  a  couple  of 
occasions  that  I  heard  the  distant  bleating  of  sheep, 
but  again,  on  listening  intently  for  a  repetition  of 
the  sound,  I  was  unable  to  verify  my  impression. 
The  next  morning,  after  a  slim  breakfast,  we  had 
an  empty  foodbox — and  our  appetites  were  mighty 
keen  up  there  in  the  wonderfully  pure  air.  Again 
I  thought  I  heard  sheep  bleating,  and  determined 
to  set  out  on  a  trip  of  exploration.  After  going  a 
couple  of  miles  I  knew  that  I  had  chanced  upon 


104 


IN  THE  BIGHORNS 


A   couple   of  days  were  spent  at  this  palatial  residence, 

the  home  of  a  sheepman  on  top  of  the  Bighorn  mountains 

in  Wyoming,  while  repairing  damages  to  our  car 

the  right  direction,  and  that  my  impression  about 
the  sheep  was  right,  for  now  I  very  distinctly  heard 
the  sheep  and  also  the  barking  of  a  dog. 

Hastening  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  I  found 
a  flock  of  some  two  thousand  sheep,  with  a  herder 
in  attendance.  He  was  a  white  man  and  very  glad 
to  see  one  from  the  outside.  After  an  explanation 
of  our  predicament,  he  directed  me  to  his  wagon, 
his  lonely  home  on  wheels,  and  told  me  to  help 
myself  from  his  ample  commissary,  containing  flour, 
bacon,  condensed  milk,  canned  fruit  and  other 
necessaries.  He  also  lent  me  his  horse  to  carry  the 
stuff  to  our  camp,  but  could  not  leave  his  flock  for 
fear  of  it  being  attacked  by  wolves.  This  generous 
hospitality  put  us  beyond  danger  of  privation.  On 
returning  with  the  horse  later  in  the  day,  the  herder 
refused  absolutely  to  accept  any  recompense  for  the 


IN  THE  BIGHORNS  105 

food  and  would  only  take  some  magazines  which  I 
had  brought  him. 

That  night  the  other  car  returned  from  Ten 
Sleep,  where  the  axle  had  been  welded  by  a  black- 
smith, who  fortunately  was  located  there,  and  also 
bringing  a  supply  of  food.  Next  morning  we  set 
out  retracing  our  way  towards  the  fork  where  we 
had  made  our  mistake  three  days  before.  Before 
reaching  that  far,  however,  the  axle  once  more 
broke  in  the  same  place,  and  again  the  little  car 
had  to  make  the  rough  journey  to  Ten  Sleep  in 
another  effort  to  have  the  damage  repaired.  That 
night  a  heavy  snow  fell  on  the  mountains,  and  it 
was  bitterly  cold.  While  wood  was  plentiful  it  was 
wet  from  the  snow,  and  thus  it  was  difficult  to  keep 
the  campfire  ablaze,  causing  us  keen  suffering,  as 
we  had  hardly  sufficient  clothing  to  keep  warm 
under  such  conditions  after  dividing  it  with  two  of 
our  party  who  were  quite  thinly  clad. 

Another  two  days  and  our  little  savior  car  ap- 
peared, and  once  more  we  were  able  to  move.  This 
time  we  made  within  twenty  miles  of  Ten  Sleep 
when  for  the  third  time  the  axle  snapped,  again  in 
the  same  place. 

The  little  car's  journey  to  the  blacksmith  shop 
and  return  this  time  was  made  within  twenty-four 
hours,  and  eventually  we  reached  the  little  town 
and,  to  our  great  delight,  found  as  clean  and  well 
kept  a  little  hotel  as  it  had  ever  been  our  pleasure 
to  encounter.  For  many  a  long  day  the  comforts 
of  this  place,  with  its  good  home-cooked  food,  re- 
mained in  our  grateful  memory,  after  the  trials  and 
tribulations  on  top  of  the  Bighorns. 


Photographing  the  Red  Man 

IT  IS  said  that  all  Indians  are  averse  to  being 
photographed.  My  pathfinding  has  at  one 
time  or  another  brought  me  in  contact  with 
most  of  our  Indian  tribes,  and  as  I  am  a  consistent 
camera  fiend  my  experiences  have  shown  that  upon 
the  whole  this  assertion  is  fairly  correct.  How- 
ever, with  few  exceptions  I  have  found  that  the 
Indian  is  generally  a  shrewd  enough  business  man 
to  appear  hostile  towards  the  camera  until  he  is 
properly  mollified  by  a  dose  of  palmoil.  The  more 
copious  this  dose  the  more  amenable  towards  the 
ordeal  he  becomes  and  the  less  fear  of  "the  evil 
eye"  he  exhibits,  even  to  the  extent  of  overcoming 
religious  scruples. 

On  the  Flathead  reservation,  in  Montana,  I  was 
told  that  it  would  be  absolutely  impossible  to  get 
Chief  Louis  Pierre  to  pose  for  a  snapshot,  but,  being 
properly  introduced  and  having  applied  the  uni- 
versal persuader  in  a  diplomatic  and  generous 
manner,  he  consented  to  "have  his  picture  took." 
However,  first  he  sent  one  of  his  bucks  for  his 
favorite  cayuse,  as  he  deemed  it  below  his  dignity 
to  be  photographed  afoot,  like  the  humbler  members 
of  his  household.  Mounted  on  his  horse,  he  issued 
commands  to  his  followers  and  ordered  them  to 
procure  their  rifles  and  guns  from  the  tepees.  He 
then  arranged  them  to  suit  his  idea  of  martial  posi- 
tion and,  taking  a  stand  at  the  head  of  the  line, 
grandiloquently  signalled  to  "let  her  go." 

At  another  place  on  the  same  reservation  I  no- 
ticed a  tepee  picturesquely  located  near  the  shore  of 

106 


PHOTOGRAPHING   THE    RED   MAN 


107 


Chiej  Louis  Pierre,  of  the  Flathead  Indians  in  Montana, 
insisted  on  mounting  his  cayuse  and  marshalling  the  male 
members  of  his  family,  heavily  armed,  into  proper  forma- 
tion  before  consenting  to   being  photographed 

Flathead  Lake  and  surrounded  by  small  white  birch 
trees.  It  made  such  an  unusually  pleasing  picture 
to  the  eye  that  I  jumped  out  of  the  car  and  ap- 
proached, in  the  meantime  adjusting  the  focus  as 
well  as  the  aperture  and  speed  of  the  shutter  to 
suit  the  light.  As  I  snapped  the  shutter  some  one 
on  the  inside  of  the  tepee  heard  the  click  and  an 
Indian  came  out  with  a  bound,  leveling  a  Win- 
chester rifle  at  me.  He  looked  fiercely  at  me  and 
insisted  that  I  take  out  the  film  and  destroy  it  in 
his  presence.  But  again  the  silver-tongued  clink 
of  coin  made  it  all  right. 

Once,  among  the  Mohave  Indians  near  Needles, 
California,  I  attempted  in  vain  to  persuade  several 
picturesquely  squalid  individuals  to  consent  to  being 
photographed.  By  various  ruses  I  had  managed  to 
steal  a  few  snapshots,  when  I  encountered  an  ex- 


108  PHOTOGRAPHING  THE  RED  MAN 

ceptionally  good  subject  in  the  way  of  an  old  crone, 
sitting  before  her  reed  hut,  making  pearl  watchfobs. 
I  used  my  most  persuasive  arguments  and  bought 
more  than  enough  watchfobs  to  last  me  for  the  rest 
of  my  life;  but  it  was  no  use,  she  persistently  and 
most  emphatically  refused  to  be  photographed.  As 
1  had  my  camera  open,  with  proper  adjustments 
except  as  to  focus,  I  surreptitiously  set  this  at 
twenty  feet  and  turned  on  my  heel,  ostensibly  to 
leave  the  neighborhood.  When  I  was  about  twenty 
feet  away  from  the  hut  I  suddenly  whirled  around 
and  snapped  the  button. 

The  old  squaw  showed  surprising  agility  in  get- 
ting to  an  erect  position.  She  picked  up  a  couple 
of  stones  and  hurled  one  of  them  with  great  force 
directly  at  me,  exhibiting  the  greatest  fury  as  she 
came  running  towards  me.  Fortunately  I  dodged 
the  first  missile,  turned  on  my  heel  and  beat  an 
ignominious  retreat  at  top  speed.  My  driver  had 
the  car  nearby  with  the  motor  running,  and  as  I 
jumped  in  the  second  stone  came  whistling  through 
the  air  and  struck  the  fender  of  the  car,  making 
quite  a  dent  in  it.  As  I  turned  around  to  watch 
the  enemy,  she  was  picking  up  another  stone  and 
came  running  after  us,  but  of  course  in  a  few  sec- 
onds we  were  beyond  range. 

The  Yuma  Indians  are  even  more  hostile  to  the 
camera  than  their  cousins,  the  Mohaves.  Tourists 
who  stop  over  from  transcontinental  trains  for  a 
visit  in  the  town  of  Yuma  find  that  these  Indians, 
men  as  well  as  women,  are  most  expert  at  shielding 
their  faces  when  encountered  on  the  sidewalks  of 
the  town.  They  always  have  an  eagle  eye  cocked 
for  cameras  and  are  prone  to  make  trouble  when 


PHOTOGRAPHING   THE    RED   MAN  109 

they  think  that  some  one  has  succeeded  in  taking 
a  snapshot  of  them. 

Realizing  the  situation,  I  took  a  drive  out  on 
their  reservation  and  visited  some  of  their  farms, 
but  was  in  every  instance  unsuccessful  in  persuading 
any  of  the  tribe  by  any  means  whatsoever  to  con- 
sent to  be  photographed.  Even  their  chief,  Pas- 
quale,  who  seemed  most  intelligent,  would  not  have 
his  picture  taken  on  any  condition.  I  had  about 
given  up  the  hope  of  success  when  I  encountered 
two  squaws  at  a  place  where  the  road  was  com- 
pletely hidden  from  the  surrounding  country  by  tall 
reeds.  They  were  returning  to  their  houses  on  the 
reservation  from  a  visit  to  the  town.  Stopping  the 
car,  I  pulled  out  a  handful  of  silver  coin  and,  after 
much  talk  and  the  promise  of  a  dollar  apiece,  they 
consented  to  let  me  take  a  photograph  of  them,  pro- 
vided I  was  sure  that  no  one  was  in  sight  to  see 
the  performance  and  upon  my  solemn  promise  that 
I  would  not  show  the  pictures  to  any  one  in  Yuma. 
I  decided  to  use  the  plate  camera  in  place  of  the 
kodak,  in  order  to  secure  a  large  photo  of  them  and 
also  to  insure  perfect  focus.  There  is  where  I  made 
my  mistake.  While  the  tripod  was  being  erected 
and  the  formidable  camera  with  its  black  focusing 
cloth  gotten  in  readiness,  the  inherent  fear  of  the 
thing  evidently  began  to  take  possession  of  them 
and  make  them  exceedingly  nervous.  I  noticed 
their  trepidation  and  hastened  to  get  everything  in 
shape,  not  even  taking  the  time  to  procure  a  careful 
and  sharp  focus.  As  I  squeezed  the  bulb  and  they 
heard  the  click  of  the  shutter,  they  turned  and  ran 
into  the  reeds  as  fast  as  they  could,  without  waiting 
for  their  dollars.  This  disregard  of  the  money  con- 


110  PHOTOGRAPHING   THE    RED   MAN 

vinced  me  that  their  fear  was  genuine  and  that  I 
might  count  myself  lucky  to  have  secured  this  pic- 
ture, even  though  the  focus  proved  to  be  a  little  off. 

Among  the  pueblos  of  New  Mexico  there  is 
little  trouble  to  get  Indians  to  pose  for  the  camera, 
as  they  have  long  since  learned  that  the  operation  is 
as  painless  as  it  is  profitable  and  that  no  evil  results 
follow.  But  some  of  these  tribes  have  been  badly 
spoiled  and  have  acquired  quite  an  inflated  idea  of 
their  value  as  artistic  subjects.  Thus  at  Acoma  I 
was  not  allowed  by  the  governor  of  the  pueblo  to 
unpack  my  photographic  outfit  without  first  paying 
a  fee  of  five  dollars  into  the  local  government 
treasury. 

At  Zuni  I  found  little  difficulty  in  getting  the 
governor  of  that  pueblo  to  act  as  my  official  guide 
and  introducer  to  any  member  of  the  tribe  whom 
I  might  want  to  photograph,  of  course  for  a  con- 
sideration, both  to  the  guide  and  to  the  subjects. 
But  when  I  tried  to  get  permission  to  picture  the 
Shalako  Dances,  one  of  their  most  picturesque  re- 
ligious ceremonies,  I  met  a  most  positive  refusal  and 
had  to  give  up  the  effort  to  do  so. 

While  the  Navahos  and  Hopis  do  not  like  to  be 
subjects  for  the  camera  and  their  women  will  hide 
their  faces  so  as  not  even  to  be  able  to  see  the  evil 
contrivance  which  takes  the  pictures,  it  is  usually 
not  very  difficult  to  overcome  this  aversion  if  diplo- 
matically handled.  However,  at  religious  cere- 
monies it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  secure  the  assent 
of  the  heads  of  the  clans  to  the  taking  of  photo- 
graphs. But  it  has  been  done.  The  Apaches, 
Papagos  and  Pimas  are  entirely  indifferent  to  the 
camera  and  do  not  mind  it  in  the  least. 


Americans  All 

IN  TRAVELING  through  the  country  districts 
in  many  of  our  Western,  Central  Western  and 
even  Southern  States,  one  will  frequently  strike 
a  county  inhabited  almost  exclusively  by  emigrants 
from  one  particular  European  nation.  It  impresses 
one  most  forcibly  that  though  these  people  often 
cling  to  their  native  language  and  in  their  homes 
retain  in  large  measure  their  former  method  of  liv- 
ing, cooking  their  food  and  even  to  some  extent  of 
fashioning  their  clothes,  they  strongly  maintain  that 
above  all  they  are  Americans  and  with  great  indig- 
nation resent  any  assertions  which  tend  to  impugn 
their  whole-hearted  loyalty  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

Of  course,  we  have  with  us  anachronisms  like  the 
Louisiana  French  and  the  New  Mexican  Mexicans, 
a  large  percentage  of  whom,  in  spite  of  living  under 
our  flag  for  generations,  do  not  speak  or  even  under- 
stand the  English  language.  Then  there  are  the 
numerous  Indian  tribes,  the  original  Americans,  of 
whom  only  a  certain  percentage  understand  our 
language  or  care  to  learn  it.  However,  the  foreign 
immigrants  as  a  rule  do  learn  our  tongue  in  course 
of  time  and  at  least  are  ambitious  that  their  children 
shall  attend  schools  and  become  Americans,  in  all 
respects  like  the  majority  of  their  fellow  citizens. 

But  there  are  localities  in  some  of  the  more  re- 
mote regions  where  these  people  sometimes  become 
to  some  extent  isolated,  and  this  condition  tends  to 
handicap  the  fulfillment  of  their  desire  for  inter- 
mingling with  English-speaking  people  and  to  main- 
tain, with  small  opportunities  for  a  change,  their 

111 


112 


AMERICANS   ALL 


Passing  the  Pueblo  of  Laguna,  New  Mexico.     This  little 
Indian   republic^  with  its   old  church  and  storied  apart- 
ment houses,  is  directly  by  the  path  of  one  of  the  main 
transcontinental  motor  routes 


old-country  language  and  ways.  Again,  there  are 
a  few  instances  where  certain  nationals,  especially 
if  they  have  arrived  on  our  shores  when  past  middle 
age,  find  the  acquisition  of  our  language  so  difficult 
that,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  they  live  among  their 
old-country  folks  and  hence  are  not  compelled  to 
learn  any  other  tongue,  they  naturally  do  not  make 
a  very  serious  effort  to  do  so. 

Not  long  ago,  I  travelled  through  Illinois  on  an 
inspection  tour  over  the  Lincoln  Highway  and  had 
reached  a  point  only  a  few  miles  directly  south  of 
Chicago,  when  we  were  overtaken  by  a  storm  which 
soon  made  the  dirt  road  so  slippery  and  the  going 
so  heavy  that  we  decided  to  pitch  camp  in  the  first 
likely  spot  available.  This  proved  to  be  a  country 
schoolhouse  yard  with  nice  clean  grass,  wood  in 
the  shed  and  good  water  at  the  pump.  Directly 


AMERICANS   ALL 


113 


across  the  road  was  a  neat  cottage  occupied  by  the 
pastor  of  a  nearby  German  church. 

After  snugging  up  the  camp  I  went  across  to 
interview  our  neighbors,  having  in  mind  the  acqui- 
sition of  some  fresh  eggs  and  milk.  A  fine-looking 
man  with  about  seventy  years  behind  him  sat  on  the 
enclosed  porch,  and  to  him  I  addressed  my  intro- 
ductory remarks,  but  in  reply  received  only  a  pleas- 
ant smile  and  a  sign  to  step  indoors.  Here  I  met 
a  young  woman,  who  explained  to  me  that  her 
father  did  not  understand  English,  but  that  she 
would  be  very  glad  to  supply  our  wants.  After 
a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  her  I  learned,  to 
my  astonishment,  that  her  father  had  served  the 
nearby  church  as  its  pastor  forty-five  years.  As  the 
necessity  for  learning  English  had  never  been  pres- 
ent, he  had  never  seriously  tackled  the  task  which 


The  black  gumbo  soil  of  Central  Illinois,  so  fertile  for 

the    raising    of    crops,   when    ivet    makes    poor    material 

for  roads.     Failure  to  put  on  Weed  chains  in  time  soon 

stops  progress 


114  AMERICANS   ALL 

he  had  found  so  full  of  difficulties  when  he  first 
arrived. 

At  another  time  in  Western  Illinois  we  again  had 
trouble  with  muddy  roads  and  our  engine  over- 
heated, necessitating  a  stop  for  water  at  a  farm 
house.  The  dwelling  house  and  barns  were  neatly 
painted  and  the  premises  as  well  kept  as  a  suburban 
estate.  Our  driver,  who  was  of  Polish  descent  and 
quite  well  acquainted  with  several  Central  Euro- 
pean languages  and  dialects,  went  in  and  asked  an 
old  man  on  the  porch  if  he  could  have  some  water 
from  the  well.  The  answer  was  a  vacant  stare 
which  eloquently  indicated  that  the  request  was  not 
understood,  so  the  driver  made  the  same  inquiry 
in  Russian,  Polish,  German  and  three  or  four  dia- 
lects without  better  success. 

Noticing  that  he  started  for  the  well  to  get  the 
water  without  the  formality  of  a  permission,  I  called 
him  back  and  tackled  the  job  of  reaching  the  old 
gentleman's  intelligence  myself.  Though  he  evi- 
dently was  not  of  the  Latin  race,  I  asked  him  in 
French  and  Spanish  without  eliciting  even  a  glance 
of  understanding,  when  all  at  once  it  occurred  to 
me  to  try  him  in  one  of  the  Scandinavian  tongues, 
which  really  should  have  been  the  most  obvious  to 
try  first,  in  view  of  the  old  man's  cast  of  features. 
As  I  was  born  in  Norway,  I  tried  him  with  Nor- 
wegian first  and  struck  the  right  note  with  the  first 
touch.  A  sunny  smile  lighted  up  his  face  as  a 
perfect  stream  of  a  Norwegian  dialect,  used  in  one 
of  the  most  remote  valleys  of  the  mountainous 
Land  of  the  Midnight  Sun,  issued  from  his  lips. 
He  told  me  he  had  been  at  his  wits'  end  trying  to 
make  out  what  we  were  all  talking  about.  The 


AMERICANS   ALL 


115 


wonder  of  it  was  that  he  had  lived  right  on  that 
farm  for  forty-two  years.  As  the-county  was  settled 
almost  exclusively  by  his  countrymen,  he  had  never 
learned  English,  though  he  had  been  a  citizen  for 
a  generation  and  voted  regularly  at  every  election. 

In  Northeastern  Colorado  I  camped  one  night 
near  a  farm  in  a  community  of  Russians,  a  very 
small  number  of  whom  could  speak  English.  They 
were  good  farmers  and  cast  their  votes  at  all  elec- 
tions. In  Wisconsin,  Minnesota  and  the  Dakotas 
are  many  counties  where  English  is  rarely  heard 
except  where  the  younger  folks  congregate  without 
the  elders  being  present. 

Covering  the  Old  Spanish  Trail  along  the  Gulf 
Coast  in  Louisiana,  I  once  had  to  make  a  detour 
across  some  marsh  lands  on  account  of  road  con- 
struction, and  before  proceeding  very  far  promptly 
mired  too  deep  to  move  either  forwards  or  back- 


The  roads  through  the  cypress  swamps  on  the  Gulf  coast 

in  Louisiana  are  often  so  sticky  and  "slithery"  that  it  is 

almost  impossible  to  keep  from  sliding  into  the  ditch 


116  AMERICANS  ALL 

wards.  Noticing  a  plantation  not  far  away,  I  pro- 
ceeded over  to  the  main  building  and  requested 
from  a  man  in  the  yard  his  assistance  and  the  use 
of  a  pair  of  horses,  but  had  to  use  French  before  my 
request  was  understood.  While  he  understood  my 
bookish  French,  it  was  exceedingly  difficult  for  me 
to  understand  his  patois,  or  Louisiana  French.  His 
people  had  lived  there  for  generations  but  had  been 
too  proud  to  try  to  learn  English,  and  besides  it 
was  not  at  all  necessary  to  take  the  trouble  to  do  so, 
as  these  people  do  not  travel  far  from  home  and  the 
neighbors  all  understand  each  other.  Que  voulez 
vouz? 

In  New  Mexico,  we  arrived  one  evening  at  Rito 
Quemado,  in  the  remote  western  part  of  Socorro 
County,  a  hundred  miles  from  a  railroad.  This 
little  Mexican  settlement  is  on  the  National  Old 
Trails  route  and  I  had  on  another  occasion  put  up 
overnight  at  the  house  of  Anastacio  Baca,  the  store- 
keeper. None  of  the  Baca  family  understood  a 
word  of  English,  though  New  Mexico  has  been 
under  the  Stars  and  Stripes  since  1848.  We  were 
made  welcome  with  the  open-hearted,  proverbial 
hospitality  of  the  Mexican  race.  While  eating  our 
meal,  it  was  most  amusing  to  watch  my  wife  and 
senora  Baca  carry  on  a  conversation  without  either 
one  understanding  a  word  of  the  other's  language. 
In  spite  of  this,  through  some  feminine  intuition 
or  freemasonry  of  the  sex,  they  seemed  to  be  able 
to  make  each  other  understand  without  further  diffi- 
culties than  more  or  less  acrobatic  gestures,  rolling 
of  the  eyes  and  waving  of  the  arms.  At  least,  so 
the  performance  looked  to  me,  who  was  all  the  time 


AMERICANS   ALL  117 

wondering  how  a  mere  ignorant  male  would  have 
succeeded  under  similar  circumstances. 

Another  thing  is  soon  noticed  by  any  observant 
traveler  into  country  districts,  and  that  is  that  he 
finds  no  settlements  of  Hebrews,  Italians,  Greeks, 
Turks  or  Spaniards.  These  races  seem  to  prefer 
congregating  in  cities,  and  devote  themselves  to 
trades  and  commerce  rather  than  agriculture.  The 
races  that  make  our  real  farmers — the  backbone  of 
our  western  agricultural  regions,  the  producers  of 
the  fruit  of  the  soil — come  from  Central  and 
Northern  European  countries.  And,  best  of  all, 
these  races  amalgamate  and  fit  themselves  most 
readily  into  things  American.  They  generally  come 
with  intention  to  stay  and  do  stay  for  good,  become 
citizens  and  are  proud  of  the  privilege. 

As  I  am  writing  this  the  77th  Division,  having 
just  returned  from  France,  where  it  made  a  most 
glorious  record  for  itself  in  the  World  War,  is 
parading  up  Fifth  Avenue,  past  my  office  windows. 
The  division  is  made  up  of  New  York  City  boys 
drawn  from  almost  every  race  on  earth.  Jews  from 
many  lands,  Italians,  Armenians,  Poles,  Greeks, 
Czecho-Slovaks,  Jugoslavs,  Rumanians,  Hungarians, 
Germans,  Scandinavians  and  many  other  original 
ingredients  of  the  melting  pot,  march  by,  proud  of 
having  served  the  flag — now  Americans  all  and  the 
sinews  of  the  nation. 


Some  "Hotels!' 

NATURALLY,  I  have  had  a  rather  unusual 
opportunity  in  my  ramifying  motor  trips  to 
sample  hotels.  I  have  found  that  there  are 
more  varieties  of  "hotels"  in  our  country  than  are 
embodied  in  the  various  names  of  hotel,  hostelry, 
inn,  tavern,  cafe,  wirthaus,  rathskeller,  bodega, 
kaiserhof,  pensionat,  and  all  other  European  varie- 
ties of  establishments  that  cater  to  looking  after  a 
wayfarer,  all  put  together.  The  term  hotel  is  ap- 
plied indiscriminately  to  such  establishments  as  the 
Commodore  in  New  York  and  the  Blackstone  in 
Chicago,  or  the  Ambassador  at  Atlantic  City,  whose 
vast  piles  look  more  like  huge  office  buildings  than 
anything  else,  all  the  way  down  through  the  chro- 
matic scale  to  such  structure  as  the  shack  at  Cisco, 
Utah,  which  proudly  exhibits  the  sign  "hotel"  over 
its  door,  the  sole  entrance  into  a  hut  built  of  dis- 
carded railroad  ties  stood  on  end. 

Also,  the  disposition  of  some  of  the  lordly  beings 
who  superintend  the  management  of  some  of  the 
gilded  palaces  are  as  different  from  that  of  the 
humble  bonifaces  who  in  their  shirt  sleeves  come 
out  and  with  glad  hand  of  hospitality  help  to  carry 
in  your  baggage  as  human  nature  is  given  to  differ. 

On  my  first  trip  across  the  United  States  in  a 
motor  car,  we  put  up  at  one  of  the  more  pretentious 
hotels  in  one  of  the  largest  Middle  West  cities,  a 
big,  multi-storied  building  with  pretensions  to  have 
everything  of  the  very  latest  in  comforts  and  clock- 
like  management,  including  a  special  clerk  for  each 
floor.  That  night  a  thief  entered  our  suite,  chloro- 

118 


119 

formed  my  wife  and  me,  and  carried  away  all  our 
traveling  money,  amounting  to  several  hundred 
dollars,  but  carefully  and  studiously  refrained  from 
touching  any  of  the  jewelry  which  was  openly  dis- 
played on  the  dresser. 

When  we  came  out  of  our  narcotic  coma  and 
realized  what  had  happened  and  a  search  divulged 
the  theft,  I  of  course  made  a  complaint  to  the  man- 
ager. He  merely  calmly  asserted  that  such  a  thing 
could  not  happen  in  his  well-regulated  establishment 
and  seemed  to  think  that  that  assertion  should 
suffice,  and  that  I  really  was  quite  presumptuous 
in  insisting  that  it  nevertheless  had  happened.  The 
situation  was  something  like  the  Irishman  in  jail 
who  insisted  he  really  was  there,  though  his  lawyer 
maintained  that  he  could  not  be  jailed  for  the 
alleged  offense. 

This  hotel  typified  the  high  note  at  one  end  of 
the  chromatic  scale,  while  the  shack  at  Cisco  typi- 
fied the  other  extreme  or  bass  note.  Within  a 
dozen  miles  of  the  little  town  of  Cisco,  of  a  half 
dozen  houses  near  the  Utah-Colorado  line,  we  had 
the  misfortune  to  break  several  teeth  in  the  master 
gear  of  the  differential  on  our  car,  and  were  com- 
pelled to  stop  and  stay  where  we  were  while  our 
companion  car  ran  into  Cisco  for  a  team  of  horses. 
In  the  course  of  nearly  two  days  these  arrived  and 
hauled  us  in.  When  we  reached  Cisco,  tired  and 
worn  after  our  trying  experience  in  this  desolate 
country,  we  were  dismayed  to  find  that  the  "hotel" 
was  a  low  structure  built  of  discarded  railroad  ties 
stood  side  by  side  on  end,  and  naturally  so  low  that 
we  had  to  stoop  upon  entering. 

Asking  the  woman,  whom  I  found  in  the  kitchen, 


120  SOME  "HOTELS 


The  pathfinder  often  encountered  very  primitive  accom- 
modations which,  however,  generally  were  off-set  by  the 
glad    hand    of   welcome    and    hearty    hospitality 

if  she  had  a  room  for  us,  she  said:  "Sure;  help 
yourself."  Inquiring  where  the  room  was,  she 
pointed  to  a  pile  of  blankets,  heaped  in  a  corner  of 
the  only  other  room  outside  of  the  culinary  depart- 
ment, and  told  us  to  take  one,  spread  it  out  wher- 
ever our  fancy  dictated,  and  right  there  was  our 
room  and  also  our  bed,  for  which  she  made  the 
modest  charge  of  fifty  cents,  payable  in  advance. 
While  this  was  somewhat  discouraging,  we  were 
pleasantly  surprised  to  sit  down  to  a  really  good 
home-cooked  meal,  which  with  beds  prepared  by 
means  of  our  car's  cushions  made  us  feel  that  lots 
of  folks  fared  worse  than  we  did  that  night. 

In  the  hot  country  of  the  Mohave,  Colorado  and 
Gila  river  deserts  there  are  other  hotels  besides  the 
well-managed  railroad  hotels,  such  as  those  of  the 
Harvey  system,  usually  named  after  one  of  the 
Spanish  conquistadores  or  padres.  At  the  smaller 


SOME  "HOTELS"  121 

desert  railroad  stations — there  being  no  other  set- 
tlements in  the  desert — frequently  the  "hotel"  is 
what  is  called  a  tent-house.  This  kind  of  a  house 
is  wooden  as  to  the  floor  and  the  first  four  feet  from 
the  ground  up,  while  the  balance,  side  and  roof,  is 
canvas,  and  there  are  no  windows  except  screened 
openings.  They  make  cool  sleeping  quarters  and 
are  often  comfortably  furnished. 

In  the  non-English-speaking  Mexican  towns  of 
New  Mexico  the  "hotel"  or  posada  is  usually  a  low 
adobe  structure,  cool,  clean  and  comfortable  though 
primitively  furnished.  It  is  said  that  these  adobe 
houses  are  the  easiest  kind  to  build.  As  Chas.  F. 
Lummis,  the  writer,  puts  it:  "One  merely  flays  one's 
lawn,  stands  the  epidermis  on  end  and  roofs  it." 
However  the  usual  Mexican  diet,  generally  strong 
with  red  pepper,  is  beyond  the  average  American 
stomach. 

Having  had  experience  with  unwelcome  little 
browrn  bedfellows  in  several  hotels  in  small  towns 
of  the  Middle  West  prairie  states,  I  have  made  it 
a  practice  to  carefully  examine  the  bedding  for  sign 
of  vermin,  even  carrying  a  small  electric  pocket 
torch  for  the  purpose,  and  on  several  occasions  have 
endured  the  indignant  protest  of  the  landlord  or 
landlady.  But,  as  I  told  one  especially  irate  host  in 
one  of  the  smaller  Western  Nebraska  towns,  I 
never  could  get  used  to  these  unbidden  guests  and 
didn't  propose  to  furnish  them  with  free  board, 
hence  I  should  have  to  insist  upon  the  search.  Yes, 
indeed,  there  are  hotels — and  hotels. 


Lost— But  Recovered 

A  ONE  time  when  I  covered  the  route  later 
given  the  long  and  awkward  name  of 
Pike's  Peak  Ocean  to  Ocean  National 
Highway  we  traveled  through  a  rough  and,  for 
long  stretches,  uninhabited  country  in  Colorado 
and  Utah.  We  had  the  misfortune  to  break  a  rear 
axle  in  the  big  game  country  of  Northwestern 
Colorado  while  attempting  to  pull  out  of  a  deep 
and  sandy  arroyo  some  twenty  miles  from  the  near- 
est habitation.  The  driver  set  out  to  walk  the 
twenty  miles  for  help.  While  he  was  gone  the  rest 
of  our  party  were  soon  out  of  provisions,  but  fortu- 
nately I  discovered  smoke  some  two  miles  off,  and 
upon  investigating,  found  the  camp  of  a  couple  of 
Mexican  hunters  for  wild  horses.  These  provided 
us  with  food,  so  we  eventually  got  away  all  right. 
It  was  interesting  to  note  the  superb  horsemanship 
and  fleet  bunch  of  horses  of  these  hunters.  Indeed, 
they  needed  fleet  mounts  to  chase,  tire  out,  and 
finally  lasso  or  coral  the  best  specimens  in  the  herds 
of  wild  horses,  as  these  were  also  very  speedy,  but 
had  not  the  same  stamia  for  endurance  as  the 
gentle  stock. 

At  a  ranch  near  the  state  line  we  had  the  expe- 
rience for  the  first,  only  and  last  time  in  the  entire 
West  of  being  refused  something  to  eat.  Not  but 
what  there  was  plenty  of  provisions  at  the  ranch, 
but  excuses  were  made  that  it  really  was  too  much 
bother  to  get  it  for  us.  However,  we  were  eventu- 
ally able  to  coax  a  pitcher  of  milk  and  a  few  slices 

122 


LOST BUT  RECOVERED  123 

of  bread  from  the  inhospitable  queen  who  evidently 
lorded  it  over  the  household. 

On  this  trip  at  a  little  town  in  Utah,  we  found 
quarters  for  the  night  in  a  rather  unprepossessing 
little  "hotel"  in  a  small  town.  After  leaving  the 
place  next  morning  my  wife  discovered  that  she  had 
left  her  rosary,  as  she  supposed,  under  her  pillow, 
and  forgot  to  remove  it  on  arising  in  the  morning. 
Some  days  later,  upon  again  reaching  a  city,  I  wrote 
back  to  the  hotel  explaining  the  result  of  my  wife's 
forgetfulness  and  asked  that  the  beads  be  mailed  to 
my  New  York  office,  as  my  wife  prized  them  highly 
on  account  of  certain  associations  connected  with 
them. 

When,  in  course  of  time,  we  returned  to  New 
York  and  found  no  trace  of  the  rosary  nor  any 
communication  from  the  hotel  people  of  the  little 
Utah  town,  it  was  naturally  given  up  as  lost  and 
the  incident  soon  forgotten.  However,  three  years 
later,  a  package  and  letter  came  from  the  little  town. 
The  package  contained  the  rosary  and  the  letter 
explained  that  it  has  just  been  found  under  the 
mattress  of  the  bed  my  wife  occupied  when  we 
stopped  there. 

Some  uncharitably-minded  person  might  make 
facetious  remarks  about  the  length  of  time  between 
the  airings  of  the  beds  in  this  hostelry  or  utter 
words  to  that  effect.  Three  years  does  seem  a 
mighty  extended  time  for  the  discovery  of  the  lost 
article  as  long  as  it  admittedly  was  found  in  the 
very  bed  where  it  was  said  to  be  lost  but,  however, 
my  wife  was  glad  to  recover  her  precious  beads  and 
I  shall  naturally  refrain  from  speculations. 


The  Un-Named  Pass 

IT  WAS  at  the  time  of  laying  out  the  Midland 
Trail,  now  the  Roosevelt  National  Highway, 
that  I  first  crossed  Nevada  in  a  southwesterly 
direction.  Between  Ely  and  Tonopah,  a  distance 
of  nearly  two  hundred  miles,  there  were  only  four 
habitations  and  the  country  exceedingly  barren,  of 
a  desert  and  volcanic  nature.  We  crossed  desert 
valleys  and  low  mountain  ranges  all  the  way,  but 
found  the  going  surprisingly  good,  the  soil  being 
for  the  most  part  a  disintegrated  granite,  almost 
like  a  fine  gravel,  and  this  made  the  ground  firm 
and  practically  immune  to  the  washing  which  the 
occasional  cloud  bursts  generally  cause  in  adobe  soil. 

Beyond  Tonopah,  a  productive  silver  mining 
camp,  and  Goldfield,  the  location  of  one  of  the 
really  big  producing  gold  mines  of  the  country,  the 
territory  becomes  rougher.  On  the  entire  distance 
from  Goldfield,  Nevada,  to  Big  Pine,  California, 
a  matter  of  a  hundred  and  nineteen  miles,  there  are 
only  three  inhabited  places,  Lida,  a  small  mining 
camp  in  Nevada,  Oasis,  a  ranch  just  across  the 
California  line,  and  Gilbert's  Ranch.  Shortly  be- 
yond the  latter  we  began  to  ascend  the  White 
Mountains  range  through  a  picturesque,  black- 
walled  canyon,  and  at  the  summit  found  a  U.  S. 
geological  bench  mark  showing  an  altitude  of  seven 
thousand  two  hundred  and  seventy-six  feet. 

The  descent  from  the  mountain,  on  an  easy 
gradient  through  a  winding  canyon,  presented  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  views  I  have  seen  in  Cali- 
fornia, and  the  pass  formed  one  of  the  most  impres- 

124 


THE  UN-NAMED  PASS  125 


//  would  be  difficult  to  find  an  equal  continuous  mileage 

of  good  natural  gravel  road  as  that  reaching  across  the 

State  of  Nevada  from  Ely  to  Tonopah 

sive  entrances  into  the  Golden  State.  The  vista, 
as  one  descended  the  slope  of  the  mountain,  reached 
across  the  Owen  River  valley  and  straight  ahead 
was  shut  off  by  the  towering  wall  of  the  Sierra 
Nevadas,  with  Mount  Whitney  overtopping  all  the 
surrounding  high  peaks.  Mount  Whitney  is  14,500 
feet  high  and  the  highest  peak  within  the  bound- 
aries of  the  United  States.  For  a  hundred  miles 
up  and  down  the  valley  one  could  see  this  rock 
wall,  rising  steeply  from  the  valley  floor  practically 
without  foothills.  The  top  of  the  sky-piercing 
peaks  were  snow-clad,  while  the  valley  was  green 
with  growing  crops,  cottonwoods  and  willows. 
Above  it  all  the  wondrous  colors  of  a  glorious  sun- 
set touched  the  shoulders  of  the  peaks  with  gold, 
silver  and  scarlet,  contrasting  strongly  with  the 
somber  shadows  of  the  chasms  and  canyons  which 
rent  the  mountain  side. 


WESTGARD 

PASS, 
NAMED  FOR 
A.LWEST6ARD  IN 

RECOGNITION  OF 
it!  DISTINGUISHED 
ERVICE  RENDERED 
RANS-SiERRA 
CALIFORNIA 


THE  UN-NAMED  PASS  127 

The  picture  was  wonderfully  impressive  and  long 
lingered  in  our  memories.  Near  the  foot  of  the  pass 
we  were  met  by  a  delegation  from  the  town  of 
Bishop,  in  Owen  River  valley,  who  came  to  bid 
us  welcome  to  California  as  pioneers  over  this  route 
and  to  tender  us  the  hospitality  of  their  town.  This 
delegation  was  led  by  Wisner  Gillett  Scott,  than 
whom  no  man  in  California  deserves  more  honor 
for  untiring,  intelligent  and  withal  patient  work 
for  the  development  of  good  roads  in  the  State,  a 
man  who  has  persistently  pointed  out  the  practical 
as  well  as  esthetic  value  of  California's  wonderful 
attractions  within  the  Sierra  Nevada  range  if  prop- 
erly exploited  and  put  within  reasonably  comfort- 
able reach  of  visitors. 

I  asked  this  delegation  the  name  of  the  pass 
which  we  had  just  come  through,  and  to  my  sur- 
prise learned  that  it  had  no  name  either  locally  or 
on  the  State  maps. 

About  a  year  later  I  accompanied  a  caravan  of 
some  twenty  cars  from  the  East  over  this  route, 
and  we  were  again  met  by  the  Bishop  delegation, 
this  time  at  Oasis  Ranch.  When  we  reached  the 
summit  of  the  pass  which  had  impressed  me  so  much 
the  year  before,  a  stop  was  made  before  a  neat 
tablet  erected  at  this  spot  since  my  last  trip.  The 
legend  on  the  tablet  read:  "Westgard  Pass.  Named 
for  A.  L.  Westgard  in  recognition  of  distinguished 
service  rendered  Trans-Sierra  California."  A  copy 
of  resolutions  passed  by  the  Inyo  county  commis- 
sioners, giving  the  pass  my  name,  was  handed  me 
by  the  delegation.  I  must  say  that  I  feel  most 
deeply  the  honor  shown  me  by  California  in  nam- 
ing this  beautiful  pass  after  me. 


Our  National  Parks 

UNFORTUNATELY,  nearly  all  our  na- 
tional parks  are  located  in  the  West,  in  the 
Rocky  Mountain,  the  Sierra  Nevada  and 
Cascade  ranges,  and  thus  not  easily  accessible  except 
at  considerable  expense  to  the  vastly  greater  per- 
centage of  our  population.  This,  of  course,  could 
not  be  otherwise,  on  account  of  the  topography  of 
the  country,  and  for  this  reason  it  is  incumbent  on 
all  those  citizens  who  have  had  the  good  fortune  to 
enable  them  to  spend  the  time  and  money  to  travel 
through  and  enjoy  these  magnificent  wild  regions 
to  spread  broadcast  the  glories  of  the  mountains, 
forests,  glaciers,  peaks,  canyons,  lakes,  streams,  ani- 
mal life  and  many  natural  wonders  of  these  parks, 
in  order  to  incite  in  their  fellow  citizens  a  healthy 
desire  to  go  and  do  likewise. 

There  are  eighteen  national  parks,  of  which 
ten  are  especially  noteworthy,  and  all  of  which 
should  be  seen  by  every  American,  worthy  of  the 
name,  before  he  starts  globe-trotting.  Most  of  the 
famous  scenic  wonders  of  other  lands  would  not 
seem  to  him  so  impressive  if  he  were  in  position  to 
draw  comparisons  between  them  and  those  in  the 
national  parks  of  his  own  land.  There  are  no  gla- 
ciers in  the  Alps  surpassing  those  of  Glacier  Na- 
tional Park  in  Montana,  there  are  no  geysers  in 
the  world  even  approaching  in  interest  those  of 
Yellowstone  National  Park.  Where  on  earth  is 
there  any  chasm  even  faintly  approaching  in 
grandeur  the  indescribable  colorful  vastness  of  the 
Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona?  Mount  Rainier  Na- 
128 


OUR    NATIONAL    PARKS 


129 


Cody,  Wyoming,  boasts  of  one  of  the  most  unique  monu- 
ments in  America.     It  is  built  entirely  of  Elk  horns,  and 
is  located  on  the  main  street  of  the  toiun 

tional  Park  in  Washington  is  in  a  class  by  itself, 
and  Crater  National  Park  in  Oregon  is  a  blue  gem 
like  the  finest  jewel,  incomparable  to  any  other 
scenic  spot  on  earth.  And  where  on  the  face  of 
this  mundane  sphere  is  there  a  spot  with  charms 
equal  to  those  of  the  Yosemite  National  Park  in 
California?  The  oldest  living  things  in  the  world 
are  the  giant  redwood  trees  in  the  Sequoia,  now  the 
Roosevelt  National  Park,  in  the  Sierra  Nevadas  of 
California.  The  prehistoric  ruins  of  the  Mesa 
Verde  National  Park  in  Colorado  were  probably 
ancient  when  the  Pharaohs  built  the  Pyramids,  and 
the  towering  peaks,  moraines  and  glaciers  of  the 
Rocky  Mountain  National  Park  in  Colorado  are 
only  a  few  miles  from  one  of  the  large  cities  of  the 
West  and  easily  accessible  to  millions  of  our  people 
without  undue  consumption  of  time  or  expenditure 


130  OUR    NATIONAL    PARKS 

of  money,  while  the  rainbow  colors  on  cliffs  and 
crags  in  the  newly  created  Zion  National  Park  in 
Utah  defy  an  artist's  brush. 

All  of  these  parks — which  of  course  are  not  parks 
in  the  sense  of  city  parks,  but  vast  rugged  regions, 
often  thousands  of  square  miles  in  extent  and  teem- 
ing with  perpetually  protected  game — are  left  in  the 
primeval  condition  of  nature  and  are  accessible  by 
motor  car.  The  United  States  Government,  with 
some  niggardliness  it  is  true,  has  constructed  roads 
and  trails  through  them  and  provided  frequent 
camping  places,  with  concrete  cooking  stoves  adja- 
cent to  fuel  and  good  water,  besides  granting  con- 
cessions for  hotels,  stage  lines  and  other  conveniences 
which  are  administered  under  the  close  supervision 
of  government  employees.  The  National  Park  Ser- 
vice, a  branch  of  the  Interior  Department,  has 
shown  most  conspicuous  efficiency  in  the  face  of 
decidedly  penurious  appropriations  from  Congress, 
which,  it  seems  to  me,  has  not  yet,  as  a  body,  shown 
sufficient  appreciation  of  the  importance  of  these 
public  vacation  grounds  with  their  potential  recre- 
ative and  economic  benefits  to  the  nation. 

A  motor-route  map  of  the  United  States  issued 
by  the  American  Automobile  Association  shows  the 
location  of  all  the  national  parks  and  the  best  routes 
leading  to  them.  I  have  personally  compiled  this 
map  from  actual  observation  in  covering  the  main 
trunk-line  routes  to  the  parks,  and  herewith  append 
a  brief  outline  of  the  proper  routes  to  use  to  reach 
the  most  important  of  them: 

Rocky  Mountain  National  Park,  near  Denver, 
Colorado,  is  reached  from  the  Lincoln  Highway  or 
from  the  Midland  Trail;  also  from  the  National 


OUR    NATIONAL    PARKS  131 


Our  camp  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  National  Park,  Colo- 
rado, at  an  altitude  of  about  9500  feet.  Nothing  on  earth 
can  compare  with  the  evening  hour  before  the  blazing 
camp  fire  with  the  pipe  drawing  well  and  everybody 
toned  right  for  a  story 

Old  Trails  Road  and  Pike's  Peak  Ocean-to-Ocean 
Highway. 

Yellowstone  National  Park  is  reached  by  follow- 
ing the  Yellowstone  Highway  from  the  Lincoln 
Highway  at  Cheyenne,  Wyoming;  by  the  National 
Parks  Highway  or  the  Yellowstone  Trail  from 
Minneapolis,  or  via  the  Black  and  Yellow  Trail; 
also  by  route  deviating  from  the  Lincoln  Highway 
at  Salt  Lake  City  or  from  Rawlins,  Wyoming. 

Glacier  National  Park  is  reached  by  the  Park- 
to-Park  Highway,  deviating  from  the  National 
Parks  Highway  and  the  Yellowstone  Trail  either 
at  Livingston,  Three  Forks  or  at  Missoula,  Mon- 
tana. 

Rainier  National  Park  is  reached  only  from  Ta- 
coma,  Washington,  on  the  Pacific  Highway. 


132  OUR   NATIONAL   PARKS 

Crater  National  Park  is  reached  from  Medford, 
Oregon,  on  the  Pacific  Highway,  or  from  Lake- 
view,  Oregon,  on  the  National  Defense  Highway. 

Yosemite  National  Park  is  reached  from  Stock- 
ton, California,  on  the  Lincoln  and  Pacific  High- 
ways, and  via  Tioga  Pass  from  the  Roosevelt  Na- 
tional Highway  (Midland  Trail). 

Roosevelt  National  Park,  formerly  Sequoia,  is 
reached  from  Fresno,  California,  on  the  National 
Old  Trails  Road  and  will  eventually  be  accessible 
from  Bishop  via  the  Roosevelt  National  Highway. 

Grand  Canyon  National  Park  is  reached  from 
Flagstaff  or  Williams,  Arizona,  on  the  National 
Old  Trails  Road. 

Mesa  Verde  National  Park  is  reached  from  Colo- 
rado Springs  or  Pueblo,  Colorado,  via  the  Spanish 
Trail,  or  from  Gallup,  New  Mexico,  on  the  Na- 
tional Old  Trails  Route. 

Zion  National  Park  is  reached  from  the  Arrow- 
head Trail,  which  connects  the  Lincoln,  Pike's  Peak 
Ocean  to  Ocean  and  Roosevelt  National  Highways 
at  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  with  the  National  Old 
Trail  Road,  near  Needles,  California. 

The  National  Parks  Service  at  Washington, 
D.  C.,  issues  maps  and  regulations  of  all  these  parks 
and  anyone  may  have  them  for  the  asking. 


The  Forage  Stations 

DURING  the  rush  of  the  "forty-niners"  to 
the  California  gold  fields  the  route  through 
southern  New  Mexico  and  the  Gila  Valley 
of  Arizona  was  thronged  by  caravans  from  the  East 
eager  to  reach  the  fabled  El  Dorado  in  the  shortest 
possible  time.  These  individual  outfits  were  sup- 
plemented by  stage  lines  in  1857  running  all  the 
way  from  San  Antonio,  Texas,  to  San  Diego  and 
Los  Angeles,  even  to  San  Francisco,  California. 
These  were  prosperous  days  for  the  murderous 
Apache  Indian  bands,  which  made  travel  extremely 
hazardous  through  southern  Arizona.  These  piti- 
less shadows  of  the  trail  would  lurk  behind  rocks 
or  lie  in  wait  in  canyons  and  swoop  down  upon 
emigrant  trains  and  stages,  slaying  men,  women 
and  children  and  robbing  the  trains  of  anything  of 
value. 

The  Civil  War  put  a  stop  to  travel  along  this 
route  and  the  Apaches  then  began  to  raid  the  scat- 
tered settlements  of  whites.  Finally,  in  1872,  the 
War  Department  sent  General  Crook  to  Arizona, 
and  this  doughty  soldier  and  leader  soon  put  a  stop 
to  the  outrages.  However,  every  now  and  then 
the  savages  would  break  bounds  and  start  out  on 
murderous  raids,  and  it  was  not  until  1886  when 
the  last  fighting  unit  of  the  Apaches  under  the  cruel 
and  vicious  Geronimo  finally  surrendered  to  Gen- 
eral Miles,  after  a  most  persistent  and  strenuous 
chase  of  thirteen  months  in  the  mountains  of 
Sonora,  Mexico,  that  troubles  with  the  tribe  were 
quelled  for  good.  Fort  Apache,  an  army  cavalry 

133 


134  THE  FORAGE  STATIONS 

post,  was  established  during  this  period  on  the 
White  Mountains  Apache  Indian  reservation,  the 
garrison  acting  as  a  police  force  and  salutary  check 
on  any  tendencies  to  further  outbreaks. 

This  army  post  is  located  sixty-one  miles  from 
Rice,  a  station  on  a  branch  of  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railroad,  to  the  south,  and  about  one  hundred  and 
ten  miles  from  Holbrook,  on  the  Santa  Fe  Railroad, 
to  the  north.  As  the  post  is  located  in  a  mountain- 
ous region  on  the  White  River,  practically  no  agri- 
culture is  carried  on  in  the  section,  and  all  supplies, 
even  horse  feed,  had  to  be  hauled  from  the  two 
railroad  points  above  mentioned.  A  considerable 
portion  of  this  traffic  used  the  rough  trail  through 
a  very  rugged  and  broken  country  to  Rice,  and  in 
order  to  provide  the  freighters  with  quarters  for 
themselves  and  feed  for  their  mules  two  forage  sta- 
tions were  established  on  the  route,  and  the  running 
of  these  stations  was  let  out  by  contract  to  civilians, 
who  undertook  to  have  the  stations  stocked  with 
food  for  man  and  beast. 

One  of  these  stations  was  located  near  the  Black 
River  crossing,  twenty-one  miles  from  the  post,  and 
the  other  seventeen  miles  further  away  in  the 
Natanes  range  of  mountains.  At  the  time  of  pio- 
neering in  a  motor  car  over  the  Trail  to  Sunset, 
now  the  Apache  Trail,  we  arrived,  after  successfully 
risking  the  ford  across  the  swift,  boulder-strewn 
Black  River,  at  the  first  forage  station  just  as  dark- 
ness fell.  The  keeper  of  the  station  and  his  wife 
could  hardly  believe  that  an  automobile  had  actually 
arrived  at  their  front  door.  In  fact,  the  lady  had 
never  seen  an  automobile,  as  no  motor  car  had  ever 
before  chugged  its  way  into  this  mountain  fastness. 


THE  FORAGE  STATIONS  135 

We  were  hospitably  welcomed  to  the  very  primitive 
accommodations  available.  While  the  good  lady 
was  preparing  our  supper  the  station  keeper  showed 
us  a  rifle  which  he  had  only  that  day  procured  from 
an  old  Indian  who  the  week  previous  had  killed  his 
wife  with  it  and  been  apprehended  by  the  soldiers 
that  day  near  the  station. 

This  story,  supplemented  by  others  telling  of 
renegade  Indians,  bears  and  mountain  lions,  made 
my  companions  somewhat  nervous,  as  this  was  an 
out-of-the-way  place  where  few  travelers  came. 
However,  our  hostess  assured  them  that  there  was 
no  cause  for  anxiety,  because  the  dogs,  of  which 
there  were  several  about  the  place,  would  be  sure 
to  bark  if  anything  unusual  happened  or  if  anybody 
approached.  Being  tired  after  a  strenuous  day's 
work,  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep  as  soon  as  my  head 
struck  the  pillow,  and  awoke  next  morning  much 
refreshed  after  a  fine  night's  rest.  Not  so  my  com- 
panions. They  were  wan,  with  heavy-lidded  eyes, 
for  want  of  sleep.  The  dogs  had  barked  continu- 
ously all  night  and  the  poor  fellows  had  been  kept 
on  edge  for  hours  waiting  for  the  expected  "un- 
usual" to  happen,  as  per  the  statement  of  the  station 
keeper's  wife. 

The  next  year,  when  I  again  covered  this  route, 
I  was  told  of  a  wanton  murder  of  two  business 
men  from  Globe  who  had  taken  possession  of  the 
abandoned  forage  station  in  the  Natanes  range  while 
hunting  and  fishing  in  that  section.  During  their 
stay  two  discharged  soldiers  from  Fort  Apache  also 
made  their  quarters  there.  During  one  of  their 
meals  the  soldiers  murdered  their  companions  for 
their  pocket  change  and  arms  and  started  across 


136  THE  FORAGE  STATIONS 

country  for  the  railroad.  Ordinarily  their  crime 
might  not  have  been  discovered  for  weeks,  but  it 
so  happened  that  another  couple  of  hunters  were 
camped  for  the  night  not  far  away  and  heard  the 
shots.  Upon  investigating  next  morning  they  found 
the  bodies  of  the  murdered  men  and  hastened  to 
Globe  to  report  the  crime.  A  posse  set  out  and  the 
criminals  were  eventually  caught,  and  were  in  the 
jail  at  Globe  awaiting  trial  when  this  story  was 
told  us  at  the  White  River  Agency,  near  Fort 
Apache. 

Upon  reaching  the  forage  station  at  the  Black 
River  crossing,  where  I  had  stopped  the  year  before, 
we  found  it  abandoned,  and  as  there  yet  remained 
a  couple  of  hours  of  daylight  we  pushed  on.  Near 
dusk  we  arrived  at  the  other  forage  station,  where 
the  murders  had  occurred  the  previous  week.  We 
took  possession,  installed  our  cots  and  used  the  stove 
to  cook  our  meal  on,  and  the  table  and  chairs.  It 
was  undeniably  somewhat  gruesome  and  eerie  to 
sit  in  this  room  so  redolent  with  the  recent  tragedy. 
Upon  discovering  the  bullet  holes  in  the  thin 
wooden  walls,  the  topic  of  conversation  naturally 
dwelt  upon  the  crime,  its  execution  and  the  sordid 
motives  for  it. 

However,  upon  lying  down  on  my  cot  I  went 
to  sleep  soundly,  but  was  awakened  during  the  night 
by  a  scratching  sound  which  readily  enough  might, 
in  view  of  the  environments,  be  termed  ghostly  by 
anyone  with  nerves.  I  ascribed  the  cause  to  rats 
scampering  over  the  rafters  above  the  paper-covered 
ceiling  of  the  room,  but  my  two  companions  on  this 
trip  acknowledged  that  they  had  cold  chills  running 
up  their  backs  from  fright. 


Forest  Fires 

I  NEVER  had  either  the  time  or  inclination 
to  scale  Longs  Peak,  which  towers  above 
all  the  sublime  surrounding  mountain  apexes, 
with  its  majestic  summit  14,255  feet  above  the  tides 
of  the  ocean  and  its  sheer  precipice  thousands  of 
feet  high,  facing  the  east,  in  the  Rocky  Mountain 
National  Park  in  Colorado.  But  one  summer, 
while  we  had  pitched  our  camp  on  Glacier  Creek, 
in  the  park,  I  did  undertake  a  hike  to  Loch  Lake, 
nestling  at  the  foot  of  a  glacier  coming  off  Taylor 
Peak.  This  entailed  a  walk,  scramble  and  climb  of 
some  sixteen  miles  from  an  elevation  of  about  nine 
thousand  feet  at  our  camp  to  some  twelve  thousand 
feet  at  the  lake. 

The  trail  at  one  place  passed  through  a  section 
which  some  years  previously  had  been  burned  over 
by  a  forest  fire,  the  stark,  dead  and  naked  trunks, 
standing  erect,  bearing  incontestable  testimony  to 
the  millions  of  dollars  of  damage,  direct  and  indi- 
rect, which  is  caused  each  year  to  our  invaluable 
forest  areas  by  the  sheer  ignorance  and  frequently 
criminal  negligence  of  builders  of  camp  fires.  As 
growing  trees  are  the  most  beautiful  work  of  nature, 
the  sight  of  a  forest  "burn"  leaves  at  the  same  time 
a  deep  sadness  and  a  hot  indignation  at  the  careless- 
ness which,  through  sheer  laziness,  selfishness  or 
ignorance,  caused  this  arson  of  a  landscape,  destroy- 
ing in  a  few  hours  millions  of  living  wonderful 
trees  that,  by  its  slow  processes,  nature  had  taken 
several  centuries  to  create  and  which  it  would  take 
more  hundreds  of  years  to  replace. 

137 


138  FOREST  FIRES 

Thousands  upon  thousands  of  acres  of  valuable 
forests  are  destroyed  by  fires  annually  in  the  United 
States,  even  though  of  late  years  the  rangers  of  the 
many  National  Forests  through  eternal  vigilance 
and  experience  save  other  thousands  of  acres  from 
a  similar  fate.  From  a  crow's-nest  built  in  a  tall 
tree  on  a  summit  or  from  the  top  of  an  observation 
tower,  a  ranger  spots  the  first  column  of  smoke, 
which,  by  means  of  range-finders  and  compass  direc- 
tions telephoned  in  to  the  chief  ranger's  office  from 
two  or  more  stations,  is  accurately  located.  Men 
with  axes  and  shovels  hurry  to  this  location  and  by 
the  expediency  of  removing  trees  which  would  be  in 
the  path  of  the  fire  or  by  shoveling  sand  or  earth 
in  incipient  blazes,  innumerable  small  fires  are  ex- 
tinguished which,  if  given  a  free  scope,  would  have 
the  potentiality  of  destroying  thousands  of  acres  of 
fine  forest. 

Enos  A.  Mills,  the  author-naturalist  of  Longs 
Peak  Inn,  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  National  Park, 
has  more  eloquently  described  a  forest  fire  in  his 
book,  "The  Spell  of  the  Rockies,"  than  perhaps 
anyone  else.  To  know  this  quiet  and  reserved  man, 
with  his  deep  knowledge  of  growing  tilings  and  his 
sublime  love  for  the  out-of-doors,  which  for  the 
Rocky  Mountain  region  parallels  that  of  John  Muir 
for  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  is  a  privilege. 

When  I  drove  my  car  up  to  his  home  he  was 
much  concerned  about  my  dog  Pan,  as  he  feared 
that  the  chipmunks  about  the  place  would  be  fright- 
ened. These  beautiful  little  rodents  were  so  tame 
that  they  would  feed  out  of  his  hand  and  crawl 
over  his  clothes.  The  blue  jay,  which  had  its  nest 
on  the  porch,  would  pay  little  or  no  attention  to 


FOREST  FIRES  139 

the  human  beings  in  near  proximity.  It  is  a  delight 
to  know  Mills;  his  books,  with  their  strong  tang  of 
the  glorious  outdoors,  are  like  an  invigorating  tonic 
to  an  invalid;  his  home  and  surroundings  are  an 
inspiration. 

I  have  seen  the  dispiriting  sight  of  forest  burns 
in  many  States,  from  the  forests  of  Maine  and  the 
Adirondacks  to  those  of  the  Rockies,  Bitter  Roots, 
Cascades  and  Sierra  Nevadas,  and  I  have  for  days 
traveled  through  a  pall  of  smoke  which  often  was 
carried  hundreds  of  miles  by  the  wind.  From 
mountain  summits  I  have  seen  the  whirling  columns 
of  the  thick  smoke,  at  times  shot  through  by  leaping 
flames,  but  only  once  have  I  been  in  such  close 
proximity  to  the  actual  nature  tragedy  that  the  heat 
and  ashes  became  oppressive  and  almost  blinding 
and  the  roar  of  the  approaching  catastrophe  indi- 
cated that  there  was  real  danger  to  linger  in  the 
region.  This  was  in  northern  Minnesota. 

We  were  traveling  along  a  rough  road  through 
the  forest.  Occasional  clearings  with  crude  cabins 
testified  to  the  efforts  of  homesteaders  to  create  pro- 
ducing fields.  An  oppressive  heat  had  been  in  evi- 
dence for  some  miles  and  a  smoke,  which  smelled 
of  burnt  wood,  had  come  on  with  the  wind  and 
became  thicker  as  we  progressed.  Approaching  a 
clearing,  we  met  a  team  coming  in  our  direction 
at  a  gallop.  In  the  farm  wagon  was  a  homesteader 
and  his  family.  He  pulled  up  short  and  admon- 
ished us  to  turn  back  at  once,  as  a  forest  fire  was 
coming  rapidly  in  our  direction  and  if  the  wind 
should  increase  in  force  would  drive  the  sweeping 
flames  with  incredible  speed. 

Without  stopping  to  see  if  we  heeded  his  advice, 


140  FOREST  FIRES 

he  started  up  his  team  of  horses  and  had  soon  disap- 
peared, going  at  top  speed.  I  hesitated  for  a  time 
in  spite  of  the  thickening  smoke  and  the  farmer's 
advice,  thinking  that  after  all  we  would  not  be  in 
the  path  of  the  fire  and  to  turn  back  would  mean 
the  abandonment  of  the  inspection  of  a  route  which 
I  was  very  anxious  to  cover.  However,  when  I 
saw  a  herd  of  deer  cross  the  clearing  ahead  with 
long,  frightened  bounds  I  realized  that  they  were 
undoubtedly  the  advance  column  of  an  army  of  all 
sorts  of  game  and  wild  animals,  whose  instincts 
told  them  of  the  approaching  danger  probably  more 
intelligently  than  the  mere  speculations  of  human 
beings.  With  considerable  trouble  we  managed  to 
turn  the  car  around  in  the  narrow  road  and  were 
soon  back-tracking  our  trail  with  all  the  speed  the 
narrow  and  rough  road  allowed  us  to  use  safely. 
In  three  or  four  miles  the  smoke  had  become  so 
thick  and  the  ashes  carried  on  the  hot  wind  so 
blinding  that  both  seeing  and  breathing  became  a 
matter  of  considerable  difficulty,  and  shortly  we 
could  hear  the  awful  roar  of  the  fire  as  it  leaped 
forward. 

With  the  throttle  in  the  last  notch  and  the  car 
careening  perilously,  wobbling  over  the  rough  road 
like  a  drunken  man,  we  fortunately  gained  open 
country  and  freedom  from  danger  only  a  short  dis- 
tance ahead  of  the  holocaust.  I  often  shudder  to 
think  what  would  have  happened  if  by  some  mis- 
chance we  should  have  had  a  puncture  or  hit  a 
stump  in  the  road,  or  anything  else  should  have 
happened  to  prevent  us  from  maintaining  our  speed 
or  cause  us  perforce  to  stop. 


A  Close  Call 

DURING  the  pioneer  days  of  motoring  in 
the  West,  the  absence  of  highway  bridges 
over  many  of  the  larger  rivers  caused  many 
hardships  and  frequently  much  added  mileage  for 
the  motorists  who  ventured  into  the  more  remote 
regions.  Usually  fords  were  available  for  horse- 
drawn  vehicles,  but  these  were  often  too  deep  or 
with  too  treacherous  bottom  to  serve  motor  cars, 
especially  if  the  water  were  a  little  higher  than 
low  mark.  Thus  I  have  been  compelled  to  cross 
railroad  bridges,  bumping  my  way  across  on  the 
ties,  on  several  occasions  when  it  was  absolutely 
essential  to  obtain  accurate  distance  measurements 
along  a  projected  motor  highway  and  making  a  long 
detour  to  find  a  better  crossing  was  inexpedient. 

In  this  way  I  have  crossed  the  Colorado  River 
into  California  at  Needles  and  at  Parker,  when 
there  were  no  highway  bridges  across  this  stream  its 
entire  length,  while  now  there  are  two  such  bridges 
on  the  main  trunk-line  highways,  at  Needles  and 
at  Yuma.  I  have  also  crossed  railroad  bridges 
across  the  Rio  Grande  at  San  Pedro,  New  Mexico, 
and  the  Little  Missouri  River  at  Medora,  North 
Dakota,  but  the  only  time  that  such  an  adventure 
entailed  a  risk  and  in  fact  a  real  danger  was  when 
I  attempted  to  cross  a  railroad  bridge  over  the 
Powder  River  near  its  confluence  with  the  Yellow- 
stone River,  in  Montana. 

At  this  place  there  was  a  ford  which  ordinarily 
could  have  been  negotiated  with  a  motor  car,  but 
a  flood  had  caused  such  a  rise  of  the  water  that  an 

141 


142  A  CLOSE  CALL 

attempt  to  cross  by  fording  was  out  of  the  question. 
By  making  a  detour  of  over  fifty  miles  we  could 
have  crossed  the  stream  by  a  bridge,  but  that  expe- 
dient did  not  appeal  to  me,  so  I  presented  creden- 
tials, which  I  had  fortunately  provided  myself  with, 
to  the  boss  of  the  railroad  section  gang  from  the 
general  superintendent  of  the  railroad.  These  com- 
manded any  employee  of  the  railroad  to  lend  me 
any  assistance  in  reason  for  which  I  might  ask. 

As  the  grade  of  the  track  was  quite  high  and 
steep  it  was  late  afternoon,  even  by  the  help  of  a 
half  dozen  husky  section  men,  before  we  had  the 
car  up  on  the  ties.  I  was  then  told  that  a  train 
was  due  within  less  than  an  hour,  and  that  we  had 
better  make  haste  across  the  thousand-feet-long 
trestle  bridge  spanning  the  roaring  current  which 
raced  some  thirty  or  more  feet  below.  As  I  ex- 
pected to  cross  in  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  I  sent 
my  wife  across  on  the  hand  car  with  the  section 
foreman  and  his  gang,  which  was  composed  of 
reliable-looking  Swedes. 

A  storm  had  been  threatening  for  a  couple  of 
hours  and  by  the  time  we  were  less  than  half  way 
across  the  bridge,  bumping  very  carefully  and  very 
slowly  across,  with  less  than  eight  inches  between 
the  tires  on  one  side  and  the  abyss  below,  the  storm 
broke  with  intense  fury.  The  first  blasts  were  so 
strong  that  I  feared  at  first  that  we  would  be  blown 
off  the  trestle,  there  being  no  guard  rail  or  other 
protection.  In  a  few  minutes  the  rain  began  falling 
in  sheets  and  the  lightning  played  in  continuous 
flashes.  The  wet  rubber  tires  and  the  wet  ties  made 
a  combination  which,  in  connection  with  the  hori- 
zontal sheets  of  pelting  rain,  made  our  situation 


A  CLOSE  CALL  143 

worse  than  precarious,  especially  when  we  could  not 
forget  that  a  train  was  soon  due  in  a  direction 
opposite  to  that  we  were  going. 

My  driver  got  so  nervous  that  I  took  the  wheel 
and  he  walked  ahead  a  tie  at  the  time,  turning  and 
motioning  to  right  or  left  by  signalling  with  his 
hands  in  order  to  keep  me  going  straight  ahead  and 
not  to  slip  overside.  This,  of  course,  was  mighty 
slow  work  and  the  tension  became  almost  strong 
enough  to  have  unstrung  anybody's  nerves.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  we  had  been  hours  jolting  along 
since  we  entered  the  trestle,  when  I  distinctly  heard 
the  whistle  of  a  train  in  a  lull  of  the  storm,  though 
either  on  account  of  the  storm  or  a  curve  I  could 
not  see  the  headlights.  Screaming  to  the  driver  to 
run  ahead  as  fast  as  he  could  and  never  mind  me, 
I  stepped  on  the  accelerator  with  a  silent  prayer  on 
my  lips,  and  the  car  shot  ahead  the  short  remaining 
distance  of  the  trestle,  and  then  we  could  see  the 
headlights  of  the  approaching  locomotive.  With 
the  aid  of  a  small  board  the  car  cleared  the  track 
and  landed  in  the  ditch  just  as  the  train  shot  by 
with  a  scream  and  a  roar  which  sounded  positively 
unearthly,  combined  as  it  was  with  the  noise  of  the 
storm.  My  wife,  who  was  numb  with  fright,  main- 
tained afterwards  that  the  hoarse  roar  and  clatter 
of  the  speeding  locomotive  sounded  to  her  as  a 
scream  of  baffled  rage  and  disappointment  uttered 
by  some  giant  supernatural  evil  monster. 

While  this  experience  was  almost  melodramatic, 
it  ended  with  a  touch  of  humor  which  soon  made 
us  forget  our  dangerous  adventure.  The  section 
hands  willingly  lent  us  their  aid,  though  drenched 
to  the  skin  as  we  all  were,  and  in  a  short  time  we 


144  A  CLOSE  CALL 

were  ready  to  proceed.  I  knew  that  the  trail  should 
be  a  short  distance — say  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  less 
— to  the  left,  so  headed  cross  country  in  that  direc- 
tion. Probably  on  account  of  the  blinding  rain  I 
missed  the  trail  and  finally  we  decided  to  stop,  eat 
some  crackers  and  sardines  from  our  commissary, 
and  snatch  what  sleep  we  could  in  our  wet  clothes 
while  remaining  in  the  seats  of  the  car,  as  erecting 
camp  in  such  weather  was  impracticable. 

When  daylight  broke  we  found,  on  looking 
through  the  curtains,  that  we  were  less  than  a 
hundred  feet  from  the  door  of  a  ranch  house,  the 
only  house  for  miles  around.  Kind  providence  had 
guided  us  to  a  safe  and  comfortable  haven,  as  the 
folks  of  the  ranch  most  hospitably  took  us  in  and 
afforded  us  an  opportunity  to  dry  our  clothes  and 
regaled  us  with  a  wonderful  breakfast  of  flapjacks, 
eggs  and  coffee.  We  spent  the  balance  of  the  day 
and  the  next  night  here,  in  order  to  give  the  soil 
a  chance  to  dry  before  again  proceeding,  and  besides 
we  needed  the  rest  after  our  nerve-racking  expe- 
rience. 

A  fine  highway  bridge  now  spans  the  Powder 
River  where  the  ford  was,  as  similar  bridges  now 
afford  safe  crossings  over  the  larger  rivers  on  prac- 
tically all  the  main  transcontinental  motor  routes. 


Indian  Slough 


ON  TAKING  the  first  truck  on  a  trans- 
continental hike  we  had  eventually,  after 
all  sorts  of  hardships  and  experiences 
which  at  times  seemed  almost  to  block  our  efforts 
to  succeed  in  our  undertaking,  reached  the  banks 
of  the  Colorado  River  at  Ehrenburg.  California, 
the  goal  and  reward  for  all  our  strenuous  adven- 
tures on  the  trip,  was  only  just  across  a  compara- 
tively narrow  stream,  and  yet  so  far  away  that  we 
for  a  while  despaired  of  reaching  it.  As  at  that 
time  there  were  no  highway  bridges  across  the  Colo- 
rado either  at  Needles  or  Yuma,  I  had  laid  our 
course  for  Ehrenburg  in  order  to  cross  by  the  ferry 
at  that  point,  believing  from  a  previous  experience 
with  it  that  it  would  be  large  enough  to  get  our 
seven-ton  truck  across. 

However,  we  learned  upon  reaching  the  little 
river  town,  after  crossing  the  desert  from  Phoenix, 
that  the  large  flat-bottomed  scow,  which  in  connec- 
tion with  a  gasoline  launch  had  constituted  the  ferry 
when  I  crossed  here  a  few  months  previously,  had 
been  swept  away  by  a  flood  and  that  only  a  very 
much  smaller  scow  or  float  was  available.  The 
citizens  of  the  little  burg,  which  consisted  of  three 
saloons  and  a  store,  maintained  that  there  would 
be  no  use  attempting  to  take  the  truck  across  with 
the  available  equipment,  but  on  looking  the  outfit 
over  carefully  I  decided  to  risk  it. 

The  first  two  trips  across  took  our  load  of  gaso- 
line and  oil  barrels,  lumber  and  much  paraphernalia 
with  which  we  were  provided  in  order  to  overcome 

145 


146  INDIAN   SLOUGH 

difficulties;  also  seats,  hood  and  all  parts  of  the 
engine  which  could  be  removed,  in  order  to  lighten 
the  final  load.  With  great  care  the  truck  itself 
was  finally  gotten  aboard,  and  almost  swamped  the 
little  scow  with  its  weight.  The  current  was  so 
swift  that  we  had  to  proceed  up  stream  close  to  the 
Arizona  bank  for  more  than  a  mile  before  we  dared 
to  attempt  shooting  across.  We  were  a  mighty 
anxious  crew  when  the  ferryman  headed  his  launch 
towards  the  center  of  the  stream  and  his  Indian 
helpers  with  long  sweeps  steered  a  course  diagonally 
across. 

Luck  was  with  us  and  we  made  the  promised 
land  in  safety,  but  found  great  difficulty  in  discover- 
ing a  favorable  landing  place  on  the  brush-grown 
bank  of  the  river.  However,  at  least  we  were 
ashore,  in  the  thick  brush,  it  is  true,  but  the  solid 
earth  underneath  our  feet  felt  good.  While  the 
Indians  chopped  away  the  brush  to  enable  us  to  get 
away  from  the  bank  of  the  stream  the  rest  of  us 
got  busy  assembling  our  outfit,  which  took  us 
twenty-four  hours  to  accomplish.  Less  than  half  a 
mile  from  the  river  we  met  our  greatest  disappoint- 
ment, which  looked  to  us  like  a  real  Waterloo.  A 
recent  overflow  of  the  river  had  left  enough  water 
in  a  large  depression  or  slough  to  form  a  veritable 
lake,  dotted  with  huge  trees  and  about  five  feet  deep 
in  the  center.  It  extended  for  miles  up  and  down 
parallel  to  the  river  and,  as  the  bottom  was  a  slimy 
ooze,  there  really  seemed  nothing  to  do  at  first  but 
to  sit  down  for  a  few  weeks  and  let  the  slough  dry 
up  by  the  slow  method  of  evaporation. 

After  studying  the  situation  for  a  while,  I  partly 
disrobed,  made  a  bundle  of  my  clothes,  and  with  this 


INDIAN   SLOUGH  147 

on  my  head  waded  and  swam  across  the  ill-smelling 
water,  which  was  almost  thick  with  decayed  vege- 
table matter.  Calling  to  my  companions  that  I 
would  be  gone  two  or  three  hours  and  for  them  to 
amuse  themselves  as  best  they  could  by  playing  tag 
with  the  millions  of  mosquitoes  which  drifted  about 
in  clouds,  I  dressed  and  proceeded  to  the  town  of 
Blythe,  a  private  irrigation  project,  four  miles  dis- 
tant. It  being  Sunday,  I  found  a  dozen  men  about 
with  nothing  to  do  but  take  it  easy  after  the  week's 
work.  As  they  constituted  the  chamber  of  com- 
merce of  the  embryonic  metropolis,  I  laid  our  pre- 
dicament before  them  and  received  the  proffer  of 
all  the  mules  and  steel  cable,  formerly  used  for 
well-drilling,  that  I  might  stand  in  need  of  if  I 
could  show  them  how  to  succeed  in  getting  the 
heavy  truck  across  the  mucky  bottom  of  the  slough. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  did  not  have  much  faith  in 
accomplishing  the  task,  but,  making  up  my  mind 
that  the  truck  might  as  well  perish  by  drowning 
as  we  from  mosquito  bites,  I  assumed  an  air  of 
confidence  and  we  brought  the  mules  and  parapher- 
nalia to  the  edge  of  the  slough,  which  was  some 
six  hundred  feet  wide  at  the  narrowest  point.  I 
realized  that  it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  haul  the 
heavy  vehicle  across  the  soft  bottom  by  a  direct  pull 
and  that  multiplying  block  and  tackle  had  to  be 
rigged.  This  was  difficult  to  accomplish  on  account 
of  the  big  trees  in  the  slough,  which  necessitated  a 
zigzag  course. 

We  buried  a  dead-man  in  the  trail.  For  the 
benefit  of  those  that  do  not  know  the  meaning  of 
this  rather  gruesome  phraseology,  I  will  explain  that 
a  dead-man  means  a  stout  log  buried  at  some  depth 


148  INDIAN   SLOUGH 

across  the  direction  of  the  pull.  To  this  the  long 
steel  cable  was  fastened,  to  serve  as  an  anchor 
against  which  to  exert  the  force  of  the  pull.  Then 
another  swim  across  the  nasty  pool  to  superintend 
the  fastening  of  the  block  and  tackle  to  the  front 
axle  and  to  the  first  tree,  which  stood  in  the  water 
about  a  hundred  feet  from  the  edge  and  directly 
in  the  path  chosen  for  our  crossing.  When  all  was 
ready  four  mules  were  hitched  to  the  cable,  and  the 
word  was  passed  to  go  ahead.  Slowly  the  big  truck, 
from  which  of  course  had  been  removed  magneto 


The   crossing   of  Indian  Slough   on   the   Colorado  River, 

near   Blythe,    California,   with    the   first   transcontinental 

truck,  closely  resembled  submarine  work 

and  carburetor,  moved  ahead  and  gradually  dipped 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  slimy  water. 

When  it  was  nearing  the  tree  to  which  the  tackle 
was  fastened,  the  mules  had  walked  over  four  hun- 
dred feet  from  the  dead-man  and  we  had  to  make 
a  new  hitch,  lengthening  the  tackle-ropes  and  mak- 


INDIAN    SLOUGH  149 

ing  fast  to  another  tree,  at  a  different  angle  and 
another  hundred  feet  ahead.  To  make  this  new 
hitch  was  no  easy  undertaking,  as  it  had  to  be  done 
an  arm-length  under  water;  but  soon  we  again  pro- 
ceeded. Deeper  and  deeper  the  truck  went  down, 
until  by  the  time  another  new  hitch  had  become 
necessary  the  top  of  the  radiator  and  hood  was 
just  awash.  To  make  the  change  of  hitch  on  the 
front  axle  this  time  was  quite  another  proposition, 
as  two  men  had  to  entirely  submerge  themselves  to 
accomplish  it.  It  took  a  long  time,  but  it  was 
finally  done  and  again  we  moved  ahead,  still  going 
deeper  for  every  foot. 

When  for  the  third  time  the  tackle-ropes  had  to 
be  lengthened,  the  water  reached  the  knees  of  the 
man  who  sat  in  the  driver's  high  seat  to  steer.  After 
five  different  changes  in  our  course  and  procuring 
new  hitches,  we  eventually  pulled  up  on  the  coveted 
shore.  The  big  vehicle  was  received  by  a  hearty 
cheer  from  all  throats  and  we  all  felt  that  we  had 
accomplished  a  real  feat.  The  men  from  Blythe 
went  home  and  in  three  hours  we  followed  under 
our  own  power,  little  the  worse,  for  our  experience 
except  that  the  truck  was  covered  by  ill-smelling 
filth  and  we  all  stood  much  in  need  of  a  bath,  which 
we  duly  took  by  the  bucketful  at  the  town  pump. 

I  learned  that  the  swamp  was  called  the  Indian 
Slough,  and  I  do  not  think  that  anyone  connected 
with  taking  the  truck  across  it  will  ever  forget  the 
experience. 


The  Gospel  and  Good  Roads 

IN  MANY  sections  of  the  West  the  most  ener- 
getic workers  for  the  Good  Roads  movement 
are  the  clergy.  The  gospel  of  good  roads  is 
consistently  being  preached  by  these  ministers,  be 
they  Protestant  or  Catholic,  and  as  these  workers 
wield  a  potent  influence  in  their  respective  sections, 
they  prove  an  especially  valuable  aid  in  intelligently 
convincing  their  fellow  citizens  of  the  value  and 
local  economics  of  improved  highways.  And  let  me 
say  right  here  I  have  found  these  men  the  best  of 
scouts  and  congenial  companions  on  many  a  strenu- 
ous pathfinding  trip. 

The  Rev.  Father  Vabre,  at  Flagstaff,  Arizona, 
he  of  the  sunny  smile  and  ever-unruffled  disposition, 
has  scouted  all  over  arid  Northern  Arizona  with  me 
among  whites  and  Indians.  He  has  been  a  powerful 
factor  in  helping  to  bring  about  the  result  that  to- 
day the  National  Old  Trails  route  is  graded  and 
provided  with  substantial  concrete  bridges  across 
canyons  and  sandy  washes  through  a  considerable 
part  of  his  sphere  of  influence.  And  it  must  be 
remembered  that  this  is  a  sparsely  settled  region, 
there  often  being  forty  miles  between  settlements 
and  no  houses  between.  The  Rev.  Father  De 
Richemont,  at  St.  John's,  in  central  Eastern  Ari- 
zona, a  scholarly  man  of  great  influence  in  his 
section,  has  also  been  a  powerful  help  towards  the 
improvement  of  the  road  in  his  vicinity. 

In  New  Mexico  the  Rev.  Dr.  H.  M.  Shields, 
of  Dawson,  has  taken  an  unusually  active  part  in 
bringing  about  road  betterment  in  a  region  where 

150 


THE  GOSPEL  AND  GOOD  ROADS 


151 


the  people  were  peculiarly  influenced  by  the  leader- 
ship of  their  spiritual  adviser.  The  Rev.  Dr.  S.  M. 
Johnson,  of  Roswell,  New  Mexico,  has  become  an 
interstate  preacher  of  the  good-roads  gospel.  He 
is  ever  willing  to  travel  any  distance  to  attend  meet- 
ings where  boosters  are  organizing  bodies  for  the 
improvement  of  highways.  As  he  is  a  scholarly, 
eloquent  man,  with  a  thorough  knowledge  of  his 
subject,  results  of  a  satisfactory  nature  usually 
follow  in  his  wake. 

Over  in  Texas,  the  Rev.  Dr.  T.  P.  Grant,  of 
Brady,  has  stumped  the  whole  State  in  advocacy  of 
road-bond  issues,  and  to  what  end  may  be  judged  by 
the  fact  that  Texas  has  invested  millions  in  road  im- 
provements and  the  good  work  is  still  going  on. 
Dr.  Grant  was  one  of  the  best  companions  on  a 
motor  hike  I  have  ever  had  the  pleasure  to  meet. 


The     high     plateaus     of     Northern     New    Mexico     and 
Arizona  are  frequently  visited  by  an  early  autumn  snow- 
storm,  causing   much   arduous   work  for   those   motorists 
ivho  happen  to  be  afield  at  the  time 


152  THE  GOSPEL  AND  GOOD  ROADS 

Over  in  Colorado,  there  is  a  quiet,  reserved 
Catholic  priest  at  Idaho  Springs,  the  Rev.  Father 
McCabe,  than  whom  none  has  worked  harder,  and 
with  more  splendid  results,  to  develop  the  Berthoud 
Pass  route  of  the  Midland  Trail,  the  Roosevelt 
National  Highway.  The  elimination  of  the  steep 
and  rough  grade  across  Floyd  Hill  on  this  route 
and  the  building  of  a  good  State  highway  through 
this  section  must  be  placed  to  the  credit  of  Father 
McCabe. 

I  could  keep  on  mentioning  specific  instances  in 
nearly  all  of  the  Western  States  of  the  well-directed 
zeal  of  clergymen  towards  similar  satisfactory  local 
results.  It  is  merely  my  intention  in  this  chapter  to 
acknowledge  the  splendid  cooperation  of  these  men 
and  to  call  well-merited  attention  to  and  show  ap- 
preciation of  their  unselfish  public-spiritedness. 


Kicking  Up  the  Dust  of  Ages 

OUR  wonderful  Southwest  is  unquestionably 
one  of  the  most  interesting  regions  of  the 
United  States,  looked  at  from  any  number 
of  angles.  Certainly  I  have  found  it  of  absorbing 
interest  in"  my  pathfinding  trips.  As  its  twenty-six 
Indian  pueblos,  every  one  a  self-governing  little 
republic,  inhabited  by  self-supporting  and  self- 
respecting  folks,  living  the  life  of  their  ancestors 
for  uncounted  generations,  as  well  as  its  nearly  a 
dozen  Indian  tribes  living  on  reservations,  its  turbu- 
lent history,  its  ancient  civilization,  its  scenery,  cli- 
mate and  resources,  are  recounted  in  my  book, 
"Through  the  Land  of  Yesterday,"  I  will  here  only 
briefly  mention  some  of  the  prehistoric  ruins  in  that 
region. 

At  various  places  adjacent  to  the  National  Old 
Trails  route  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  and 
reached  by  ancient  trails,  some  of  them  too  rough 
for  motor  cars,  are  many  of  the  most  interesting 
archaeological  remains  in  the  world.  The  wonder 
of  it  is  that  these  are  comparatively  little  known — 
in  fact,  practically  unknown — to  the  vastly  greater 
proportion  of  Americans.  And  yet  quite  a  number 
of  them  are  easily  reached  by  motor  car  and  are 
close  to  settled  communities. 

Thus  the  wonderful  ruins  of  the  vast  communal 
house  of  Tyu'onyi  are  located  in  the  canyon  of  Rito 
de  los  Frijoles,  only  thirty-five  miles  from  Santa  Fe, 
itself  probably  the  most  picturesquely  interesting 
city  in  the  United  States  and  the  second  oldest. 
This  communal  house  contained  originally  seven 

153 


154 


KICKING   UP   THE   DUST  OF   AQES 


"Compra  Llena,"  buy  wood,  is  the  cry  heard,  like  the  call 

of  the  "old  clothes"  man  of  Eastern  cities,  in  Santa  Fe, 

Neiv  Mexico,  as  the  Indians  drive  their  laden   burrows 

through   the  streets 

hundred  rooms  and  was  a  true  prototype  of  the 
modern  city  apartment  house.  Nearby  in  the  same 
canyon  are  hundreds  of  cliff  and  cave  dwellings 
which  tell  the  student  of  archaeology  about  a  civili- 
zation reaching  so  far  back  into  the  hoary  pre- 
historic past  that  even  no  conjectures  as  to  their  age 
are  ventured  by  the  learned  men  who  dig,  excavate, 
study  and  draw  conclusions  from  the  pottery,  skele- 
tons, basketry  and  other  remains  of  those  who  once 
upon  a  time  occupied  these  tiny  dwellings.  The 
kiva,  or  sacred  ceremonial  underground  chamber, 
excavated  on  a  shelf  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  up 
the  sheer  cliff  side  of  the  canyon,  is  a  rare  treat  to 
visit.  This  region  forms  the  Bandolier  National 
Monument,  and  the  Government  custodian,  Judge 
Abbott,  will  most  cheerfully  guide  anyone  up  to  this 
venerable  eyrie. 


KICKING    UP   THE   DUST   OF   AGES 


155 


It  is  said  that  about  twenty  thousand  prehistoric 
ruins  and  cave-dwellings  are  located  in  the  Santa  Fe 
region,  some  of  the  most  interesting  of  which,  in 
addition  to  those  in  Rito  de  los  Frijoles,  are  Puye, 
Tsankawi,  Navawi  and  Tchrege. 

At  Chaco  Canyon,  northeast  of  Gallup,  there  are 
some  ten  great  ruins,  the  largest  of  which  is  Pueblo 
Bonito,  with  more  than  a  thousand  rooms. 

On  the  Navaho  Indian  reservation  in  Arizona 
there  are  a  number  of  most  wonderful  ruins,  as 
those  of  the  justly  famous  scenic  Canyon  de  Chelly, 
near  Chinle,  forty  miles  north  of  Fort  Defiance. 
Here  are  about  two  hundred  ruins,  of  which  the 
"White  House,"  conspicuously  white  against  the 
somber  background  of  a  shallow  cave,  is  best  known. 
Also  within  less  than  thirty  miles  from  the  trading 
post  of  Tyende  or  Kayenta  are  three  remarkable 


There  are  a  few  hairpin  turns  that  bother  cars  with  a 
long  <wheelba.se  on  the  road  down  the  beautiful  La  Bajada 
cliff  near  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico.  The  pathfinder  used 
the  old  road  seen  to  the  right,  and  it  was  "some"  road 


156  KICKING   UP   THE   DUST  OF   AGES 

ruins :  Betatakin,  a  veritable  city  in  a  splendid  state 
of  preservation,  and  only  discovered  about  ten  years 
ago;  Inscription  House,  an  ancient  ruin,  in  one 
room  of  which  is  found  an  inscription  scratched  on 
the  wall  by  some  prowling,  adventurous  member  of 
one  of  the  roving  bands  of  Spaniards  who  in  the 
sixteenth  century  ventured  far  into  the  most  remote 
corners  of  the  Spanish  province  of  New  Grenada, 
as  the  country  was  then  called,  in  search  of  fabled 
treasure ;  Keet-seel,  or  pottery  house,  a  ruin  clinging 
to  the  very  side  of  a  precipitous  cliff.  These  three 
ruins  constitute  the  Navaho  National  Monument. 

In  the  southwest  portion  of  Colorado  are  the 
Hovenweap  ruins,  not  yet  excavated  but  said  to  be 
especially  interesting.  Not  far  away  is  the  Mesa 
Verde  National  Park,  jutting  into  the  Southern 
Ute  Indian  reservation.  This  region  is  reached  via 
the  Spanish  Trail-Mesa  Verde  Highway  from 
Pueblo  and  contains  some  of  the  most  wonderful 
ruins  of  the  entire  Southwest.  The  most  conspicu- 
ous among  these  are  the  Cliff  Palace,  Spruce  Tree 
House,  Balcony  House,  Sun  Temple  and  Peabody 
House,  all  excavated  and  accessible.  Near  the  town 
of  Aztec,  in  northeastern  New  Mexico,  on  the  same 
highway  and  not  far  from  Mesa  Verde,  are  the 
Aztec  ruins  now  in  course  of  exploration  and  said 
to  be  of  paramount  interest. 

One  of  the  most  beautifully  situated  prehistoric 
ruins  in  Arizona  is  that  of  the  Tonto  National 
Monument,  a  mile  south  of  the  Apache  Trail  and 
only  five  miles  east  of  Roosevelt  Dam.  These  ruins 
are  especially  easy  of  access  and  are  located  up  the 
side  of  a  canyon  which  in  itself  is  a  veritable  garden 
of  numerous  varieties  of  beautiful  desert  cactus. 
The  light  color  of  these  ruins  contrast  so  con- 


KICKING    UP    THE   DUST  OF   AGES  157 


In  front  of  "the  oldest  house"  in  the  United  States, 
located  on  a  narrow  street  in  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  and 
said  to  date  from  1530.  It  is  of  adobe  construction — 
mud  and  straw — and  was  formerly  two  stories  in  height. 
A  Mexican  family  makes  it  its  home 

spicuously  with  the  dark  cave  back  of  them  that, 
from  a  distance,  they  have  the  appearance  of  bright 
marble  structures.  Montezuma  Castle,  south  of 
Flagstaff,  is  another  ruin  of  splendid  picturesque- 
ness.  Then  there  are  the  easily  accessible  cliff- 
dwellings  in  Walnut  Canyon,  only  nine  miles  from 
Flagstaff,  many  ruins  of  large  community  houses 
near  Tempe  and  Mesa,  in  the  Salt  River  valley, 
and  literally  thousands  of  smaller  ruins  scattered 
throughout  the  entire  northern  part  of  New  Mexico 
and  Arizona. 

Indeed,  searching  for  possible  automobile  routes 
in  this  entrancing  "Land  of  Yesterday"  was  liter- 
ally kicking  up  the  dust  of  ages  along  prehistoric 
trails,  often  alongside  paths  worn  ankle  deep  by  the 
moccasined  feet  of  countless  generations  of  forgotten 


158  KICKING   UP   THE  DUST  OF  AGES 

races.  And  to  think  some  of  our  people  go  to  Egypt 
and  other  eastern  countries,  drawn  there  by  the 
magnet  of  the  mystery  of  the  ancient,  when  we  have 
in  our  own  country  ruins  rivalling  in  interest  and 
probably  in  age  those  of  any  country  on  the 
Mediterranean.  If  they  want  the  foreign  flavor, 
surely  the  language,  costumes  and  customs  of  the 
swarthy  races  of  our  own  Southwest  can  satisfy  the 
most  curious  in  this  respect.  But  then  we,  who  as 
a  nation  are  such  live  advertisers  of  our  products, 
have  curiously  enough  failed  to  give  the  wide  pub- 
licity to  our  own  scenic  archaeological  and  ethno- 
logical attractions  which  they  deserve  and  which 
will  some  day  be  done.  Then  the  harvest  of  gold 
from  the  restless  roaming  tourist  will  surpass  the 
combined  returns  from  all  the  other  resources  of 
the  Southwest. 


The    Canyon    of   the   Salt    River,    near    Roosevelt    Dam, 

Ariz.,    is    most    rugged    and    picturesque.      It    is    thickly 

dotted  with  giant  Saguaro  cactus 


Sectional  Rivalry 

IN  UNITY  there  is  strength.  This  old  adage 
is  often  lost  sight  of  by  rival  contenders  for 
the  honor  of  being  located  on  a  particular 
trunk-line  motor  route  which  may  be  projected 
through  a  section  of  country  where  either  one  of 
two  or  more  communities  may  offer  equal  advan- 
tages for  the  location  of  such  a  route.  While  a 
healthy  and  sportsmanlike  rivalry  is  commendable 
and  frequently  causes  the  building  of  two  routes 
where  only  one  was  in  contemplation,  it  is  unfortu- 
nately too  often  the  case  that  this  rivalry  assumes 
the  nature  of  acrimonious  recriminations  and  causes 
such  a  hatred  and  intolerable  situation  that  a  route 
has  been  located  through  a  territory  where  its  loca- 
tion would  benefit  neither  contestant.  An  award  of 
this  kind,  with  which  I  have  been  identified  more 
than  once,  reminds  one  of  the  situation  some  years 
ago  in  Arizona,  when  Prescott  and  Tucson  foug'it 
so  hard  and  with  such  bitterness  for  the  location 
of  the  State  capital  that  Phoenix  was  chosen  as  a 
compromise,  thus  causing  both  the  contenders  to 
lose  out. 

Well-known  examples  of  sectional  rivalry  be- 
tween cities  are  those  of  Seattle  and  Portland, 
Minneapolis  and  St.  Paul,  Dallas  and  Fort  Worth, 
and  San  Francisco  and  Los  Angeles.  In  the  latter 
case  the  feeling  has  spread  so  that  now  it  is  North- 
ern California  against  Southern  California,  to  the 
serious  detriment  of  the  whole  State.  It  is  often 
claimed  that  the  Californians  are  a  mighty  self- 
opinionated  lot  and  rather  hold  that  they  are  the 

159 


160  SECTIONAL    RIVALRY 

tail  that  wags  the  dog,  meaning  the  rest  of  the 
United  States,  and  that  this  sectional  pride  is  about 
the  only  thing  upon  which  the  Northern  and 
Southern  Californians  agree. 

Personally,  I  think  that  California  as  a  unit  and 
an  integral  part  of  these  great  United  States  would 
find  it  altogether  to  its  advantage  to  pull  together 
in  all  things,  as  the  State  has  riches  and  glories 
enough  to  go  around  and  to  spare.  It  can  well 
afford  to  reach  out  the  welcome  hand  of  hospitality 
to  all  visitors,  whatever  part  of  the  State  they  enter 
first,  and  its  citizens,  as  Californians,  not  Southern 
or  Northern  Californians,  place  every  facility  at 
their  disposal  to  visit  the  many  wonderful  attrac- 
tions all  over  the  State.  I  think  that  the  develop- 
ment of  a  network  of  good  highways  within  the 
commonwealth,  a  matter  upon  which  the  two  sec- 
tions seem  to  agree  and  cooperate,  will  eventually 
do  away  with  any  sectional  bitterness  and  will  bring 
about  a  tolerance  and  unity  of  general  efforts  which 
must  inevitably  redound  to  the  great  benefit  of  all 
sections. 

Texas  is  so  cumbersomely  unwieldy  that  it  is  not 
closely  enough  knitted  together  on  many  matters 
that  should  be  made  the  concern  of  all  parts  of  the 
State.  This  is  largely  due  to  the  climatic  differ- 
ences and  consequent  conflicting  interests  of  its  ex- 
treme sections,  where  the  climate  ranges  from  the 
sub-tropical  of  the  gulf  coast  to  the  severe  winters 
of  the  plains.  Again  the  improvement  of  highways, 
which  will  make  intercommunication  between  the 
most  remote  corners  of  the  vast  commonwealth  easy 
and  cause  a  better  understanding  of  the  problems 
in  each  section,  will  eventually  make  one  entity  of 


The  perpendicular  cliffs  of  the  Grand  River  in  Colorado 
are  frequently  split  as   by  a  gigantic  cleaver 


162  SECTIONAL    RIVALRY 

them  all  and  cause  them  to  present  a  solid  front, 
one  for  all  and  all  for  one,  when  problems  of  State- 
wide importance  arise. 

Colorado  is  divided  into  two  parts,  the  plains  and 
the  "Western  Slope,"  the  Rocky  Mountains  being 
the  natural  barrier  between  the  two.  In  addition, 
an  acrimonious  jealousy  has  in  the  past  existed  be- 
tween Denver,  Colorado  Springs  and  Pueblo,  all  of 
them  located  on  the  east  slope,  where  the  plains  and 
mountains  meet.  It  has  been  claimed  that  the  alti- 
tude at  which  these  cities  lie  causes  people  to  become 
high-strung  or  irritable  and  thus  quarrelsome,  and, 
as  everyone  knows,  there  is  no  quarrel  more  bitter 
than  a  family  quarrel.  However,  I  am  happy  to  be 
able  to  record  that  since  the  advent  of  the  good- 
roads  era,  when  nearly  all  parts  of  the  State  on 
both  sides  of  the  mountains  are  easily  accessible  by 
motor  car,  this  sectional  rivalry  and  jealousy  has 
almost  entirely  disappeared.  It  has  been  found  that 
there  is  enough  tourist  traffic  to  satisfy  every  town, 
and  more  coming  every  year;  hence  Coloradans  are 
now  all  putting  their  shoulders  to  the  same  wheel 
and  heave  together  for  the  glory  of  and  to  the  great 
benefit  of  the  State.  The  splendid  roads  through 
their  magnificent  mountain  region  enable  tourists  to 
roam  at  will  and  enjoy  a  climate  and  scenery  which 
are  sure  to  induce  them  to  stay  longer  than  at  first 
intended  and  to  come  again.  All  Colorado  needs 
to  do  is  to  treat  its  visitors  fairly,  without  greed, 
and  its  attractions  will  prove  more  valuable  than 
all  its  mineral  wealth. 

In  the  Northwest,  the  States  of  Wyoming,  Mon- 
tana, Idaho  and  Washington  pull  together  like  a 
trained  team  of  horses,  and  this  unity  of  effort  is 
increasingly  effective  in  bringing  to  the  attention  of 


SECTIONAL    RIVALRY  163 

money-spending  travelers  the  many  delights  of  this 
region.  These  efforts  are,  of  course,  much  strength- 
ened by  the  location  of  the  Yellowstone,  Glacier 
and  Mt.  Rainier  national  parks  within  this  region. 
The  glad  hand  of  welcome,  hospitality  and  fair 
treatment  are  bringing  about  results  in  the  North- 
west which  the  gradual  expansion  of  good-roads 
systems  is  sure  to  increase  to  such  a  volume  of 
tourists  traffic  that  all  communities  will  be  bene- 
fited. Many  sections  of  the  United  States  could 
learn  much  to  their  advantage  by  studying  and  fol- 
lowing the  example  of  the  northwestern  States. 

Now  we  come  to  Arizona  and  New  Mexico.  No 
one  can  accuse  these  States  of  being  unprogressive 
or  inhospitable,  in  fact,  their  characteristics  are  all 
to  the  contrary.  Neverthelss  it  is  undeniable  that 
most  communities  in  these  commonwealths  must  be 
called  to  a  large  degree  somewhat  indifferent  or  at 
least  lethargic  in  the  matter  of  exerting  special 
efforts  to  make  the  unquestionably  most  wonderful 
attractions  of  their  States  known  to  the  outside 
world.  They  are  generally  perfectly  willing  that 
outsiders  do  this  work  for  them  or  indifferent  as 
to  how  it  is  done  so  it  does  not  cost  themselves  spe- 
cial efforts  or  money.  In  saying  this  I  know 
whereof  I  speak.  It  is  doubtful  if  Arizona  and 
New  Mexico  has  had  a  better  friend  than  myself. 
I  have  for  years  traveled  through  their  territory, 
have  written  widely  of  the  wonderful  attractions, 
scenically,  archaeologically  and  otherwise,  of  these 
States  in  magazines  and  books.  While  I  have 
always  met  with  a  welcome,  I  have,  on  the  other 
hand,  received  little  or  no  cooperation  in  the 
exploitations  of  their  attractions  nor  in  fact  noted 
any  special  appreciation  of  my  efforts  in  their  behalf 


164 


SECTIONAL    RIVALRY 


These  towering  sandstone   monoliths,  near  St.  Michaels, 
Arizona,  are  called  the  haystacks 

except  from  the  little  town  of  Springerville, 
Arizona.  The  noted  writer,  Charles  F.  Lummis, 
calls  this  country  "the  land  of  tomorrow,"  and  per- 
haps these  folks  of  the  southwest  will  cooperate 
"tomorrow."  Quien  sabe? 

On  the  other  hand  it  is  a  hopeful  omen  that 
Arizona  and  New  Mexico  have  made  a  good  start 
in  the  building  of  roads  that  are  fast  making  its 


SECTIONAL    RIVALRY  165 

attractions,  some  of  which  are  unmatched  anywhere 
on  earth,  easily  accessible  to  motor  tourists.  The 
wonderful  pueblos  of  the  Rio  Grande  valley,  the 
interesting  prehistoric  ruins  of  community  houses 
and  cliff  dwellings,  the  many  Indian  tribes  with 
their  ceremonial  dances,  the  Painted  Desert,  petri- 
fied forests,  natural  monuments,  the  Grand  Canyon, 
the  National  Forests,  the  magnetic  attractions  of 
the  Gila  Desert,  the  Roosevelt  and  Elephant  Butte 
irrigation  dams,  the  fine  fishing  streams  and  hunting 
grounds  and  numerous  other  features  to  be  found 
in  these  States,  are  nowadays  within  the  reach  of 
any  red-blooded  motor  tourists.  To  increase  the 
volume  of  the  lucrative  tourist  traffic  it  is  only 
necessary  to  make  some  intelligent  and  united  effort 
to  call  the  attention  of  the  world  to  these  attrac- 
tions, and  if  this  is  done  on  a  liberal  scale  these 
States  will  find  their  publicity  efforts  rewarded  by 
an  unprecedented  stream  of  wealth  rolling  in  on 
them. 

In  this  country  the  example  of  the  New  England 
States  may  be  studied  to  good  effect  by  Arizona  and 
New  Mexico,  and  if  they  should  care  to  go  further 
afield  for  more  intensive  studies,  Italy,  France  and 
Switzerland  would  present  many  a  wholesome 
lesson. 


Out  PFest 

ONE  of  the  most  remarkable  observations 
that  one  is  forced  to  make  when  traveling 
around  in  the  eastern  part  of  our  country, 
13  the  limited  comprehension  of  the  vast  size  and 
resources  of  the  United  States,  often  displayed  by 
people  whom  one  really  expects  to  have  a  wider 
knowledge  of  the  subject.  I  do  not  refer  to  the 
army  of  Americans  of  wealth,  who  can  glibly  tell 
you  all  about  even  the  more  remote  corners  of 
Europe,  but  who  have  never  seen  California,  the 
Grand  Canyon  or  the  wonders  of  our  National 
Parks,  and  either  look  rather  bored  at  being  told 
about  them  or  look  as  if  a  recital  of  their  beauties 
and  wonders  must  be  patiently  endured  or  merely 
considered  one  of  the  expected  "boasts"  of  their 
countrymen.  One  of  the  good  things  following  the 
world  war  was  the  fact  that  as  Europe  was  closed 
to  these  folks  they  were  literally  compelled,  being 
people  of  leisure  with  few  serious  objects  in  life 
aside  from  traveling,  to  visit  regions  in  the  United 
States  which  they  heretofore  had  thought  too 
arduous  to  approach. 

This  circumstance  has  brought  an  appreciation  of 
their  own  wonderful  country  that  has  made  them 
at  the  same  time  prouder  Americans  and  staunch 
advocates  of  the  "See  America  first"  gospel.  It  is, 
however,  the  solid  "middle  class"  people  (as  they 
are  sometimes  called),  the  farmer  and  tradesman, 
that  frequently  show  such  gross  ignorance  of  the 
United  States  that  one  wonders  at  it  in  these  days 
of  compulsory  schooling.  It  would  be  ridiculous 
166 


OUT  WEST  167 

if  it  were  not  such  an  evidence  of  smug  indifference. 
Of  course  these  conditions  will  mend  in  proportion 
as  these  people  acquire  the  ownership  of  a  motor 
car.  This  blessing  of  modern  times,  in  my  opinion, 
is  proving  itself  the  greatest  educator  in  history,  be- 
cause its  use  compels  acquiring  knowledge,  first  of 
one's  own  section,  then  of  one's  own  State  and 
finally,  as  the  network  of  good  roads  spreads,  of 
one's  entire  country,  besides  broadening  one's  vision 
of  life  and  appreciation  of  the  problems  facing  other 
regions  outside  of  one's  own.  This  education  will 
have  a  powerful  influence  on  our  politics  and  tend 
to  cultivate  toleration  and  sympathy,  and  at  the 
same  time  it  will  wipe  out  sectionalism. 

I  well  remember  when  once  in  the  early  days 
of  motordom,  the  time  when  roads  were  all  dirt 
roads  and  one  spent  more  than  half  of  his  time  on 
his  back  underneath  the  car,  and  thirty  miles  was 
considered  quite  a  days  ride,  I  stopped  at  a  farm- 
house in  eastern  Connecticut  to  borrow  some  tools 
from  a  farmer,  which  I  needed  in  tinkering  with  the 
car,  the  conversation  turned  on  "Out  West."  I 
mentioned  having  traveled  through  our  western 
states,  but,  of  course,  not  in  those  early  days,  by 
motor.  The  farmer,  rather  conscious  of  some 
traveling  himself,  remarked  that  he  also  had  been 
"Out  West,"  to  visit  a  brother  that  a  generation 
before  had  moved  there.  More  for  the  purpose  of 
seeming  polite  than  for  any  real  interest  in  the  sub- 
ject, I  asked  him  what  part  of  the  west  he  had 
visited.  To  my  utter  amazement  he  proudly  said, 
"in  York  State,  near  Utica." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  this  man  was  quite  a  traveler 
when  one  compared  him  with  the  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  sturdy  Americans  who,  at  least  up  to 


168  OUT  WEST 

very  recent  times,  had  never  been  outside  of  their 
own  county,  to  say  nothing  of  their  State.  Ingrown 
sectionalism  and  indifference  to  the  welfare  or  needs 
of  fellow  citizens  beyond  their  own  narrow  sphere 
of  vision  is  traceable  directly  to  this  condition.  Of 
all  the  modern  methods  of  communication,  tele- 
graph, telephone,  rural  delivery  of  mail,  interurban 
electric  cars,  railroad,  newspapers  and  magazines, 
the  strongest  and  most  potent  antidote  to  ignorance 
is  the  motor  car,  because  it  teaches  while  it  gives 
pleasure  and  health,  and  thus  is  "easy  to  take." 


Convict  Labor 

OUR  immensely  fast-growing  demand  for 
improved  highways  which  call  for  the  ex- 
penditure of  hundreds  of  millions  of  dollars 
annually,  has  caused  such  a  scarcity  of  labor,  of  the 
class  which  can  be  utilized  for  this  purpose,  that 
many  of  the  States  in  the  Union  are  using  convicts 
to  help  fill  the  pressing  want.  In  spite  of  the  fact 
that  no  State  has  enough  inmates  in  its  penal  insti- 
tutions, who  can  properly  be  used  for  roadwork,  to 
affect  the  labor  market,  labor  organizations  have  in 
some  States  selfishly  adopted  the  rule  of  the  dog 
in  the  manger  and  through  politics  prevented  the 
utilization  of  convict  labor  on  highway  work  or 
other  public  improvements.  This  stand  not  only 
does  not  benefit  these  organizations,  but  retards  the 
construction  of  highways  important  to  the  State  and 
deprives  fellow  human  beings,  often  doing  penance 
for  relatively  slight  offences  against  society,  of  the 
outdoor  life  and  healthy  exercise  that  help  to  purify 
mind  and  body  and  fit  them  for  better  life  when 
their  terms  are  expired. 

There  are  two  methods  employed  in  applying 
convict  labor  to  roadwork,  the  honor  system,  best 
exemplified  in  Colorado,  where  it  was  first  intro- 
duced, and  the  system  where  the  convicts  work  in 
striped  suits,  often  weighted  down  by  chains  and 
guarded  by  men  with  cocked  rifles,  and  herded  into 
wheeled  cages  at  night  like  wild  beasts. 

Let  us  first  consider  how  the  honor  system,  so 
idealistically  conceived  with  humanitarian  purposes 
in  view,  really  works  in  practice.  Warden  Tynan, 

169 


170  CONVICT    LABOR 

of  the  Colorado  State  penitentiary  at  Canon  City, 
must  be  given  the  credit  of  first  using  the  honor  sys- 
tem. Much  needed  improvements  of  highways 
across  the  mountain  passes  were  so  delayed  and 
hampered  by  lack  of  labor  that  the  State  resolved 
to  try  the  application  of  Mr.  Tynan's  scheme. 
Briefly  this  consisted  in  allowing  short  term  pris- 
oners and  trustees  the  privilege  of  living  in  healthy 
camps,  working  in  the  bracing  pure  air,  using  ordi- 
nary civilian  clothes  in  place  of  the  degrading 
prison  uniforms,  laboring  without  armed  guards, 
and  in  addition  being  allowed  a  small  daily  wage 
for  their  work,  thus  laying  up  something  against 
the  day  of  release.  From  the  standpoint  of  the 
State  this  accomplished  much  to  be  desired:  the 
carrying  on  of  needed  improvements,  making  the 
convict  earn  his  keep  in  place  of  being  an  expense  to 
the  commonwealth,  and  improving  his  morale  so 
that  when  released  he  will  be  a  better  citizen  and 
not  as  liable  to  again  offend  against  the  statute  laws. 
From  the  standpoint  of  the  convict  the  outdoor  life, 
the  escape  from  the  confining  prison  walls,  the 
healthy  exercise,  good  food  and  the  confidence 
shown  in  him  by  this  unguarded  and  un-uniformed 
life  make  him  see  life  in  brighter  colors  and  create 
better  intentions  for  the  future.  As  a  result  there 
has  been  practically  no  efforts  to  escape,  and  in  the 
one  or  two  cases  which  have  occurred,  the  culprits 
who  broke  their  given  words  in  this  respect  have, 
when  caught,  been  ostracized  by  their  fellow  pris- 
oners and  deprived  of  the  privilege  of  further  out- 
door work.  This  punishment  has  proved  more 
potent  than  solitary  confinement  and  other  harsh 
means  of  handling  recalcitrant  offenders  against 


CONVICT    LABOR  171 

prison  rules.  I  have  on  occasions  visited  Colorado 
convict  road  camps  and  joined  the  men  at  their 
meals.  Their  freedom  from  restraint  or  mental  de- 
pression was  most  noticeable.  They  acted  and 
talked  naturally  like  free  men.  The  benefits  of 
this  system  was  so  evident  that  it  needed  no  obtruse 
or  statistical  arguments  to  convince  anyone. 

Now  let  us  look  at  the  other  method  of  using 
convict  labor  as  practised  in  some  of  the  older  south- 
ern states.  The  picture  here  is  of  a  very  different 
character.  On  one  of  my  trips  of  investigation  of 
routes  to  Florida  some  years  ago,  I  encountered  sev- 
eral convict  road  camps  in  three  different  states.  At 
one  of  these  camps  a  white  man,  the  only  one  in 
the  camp  aside  from  the  guards,  was  working  among 
a  gang  of  burly  negroes.  Upon  inquiry  I  learned 
that  his  offense  had  been  the  terrible  crime  of  get- 
ting drunk.  And  for  this  he,  a  Southerner  with  a 
Southerner's  prejudice  of  acknowledging  equality  or 
associating  with  negroes,  was  made  to  suffer  the,  to 
him,  unspeakable  indignity  of  working  in  a  chain 
gang  of  black  men.  After  talking  with  him  for 
some  moments,  I  was  convinced  that  this  galling 
treatment  had  caused  such  a  resentment  in  his  other- 
wise normal  mind  that  he  stood  in  danger  of  becom- 
ing a  confirmed  criminal  and  foe  of  society  when  he 
again  had  his  freedom. 

Among  the  dozen  negro  convicts  at  work  at  this 
camp  five  were  serving  life  sentences,  and  conse- 
quently had  no  fear  of  taking  chances  of  getting 
away,  as  they  would  be  no  worse  off  if  they  failed 
of  success  in  the  attempt.  This  gang  was  served 
with  water  by  a  diminutive  negro  boy,  apparently 
some  ten  or  eleven  years  old  and,  it  seems  almost 
unbelievable,  this  little  chap  had  not  only  iron  chains 


172  CONVICT    LABOR 


Some  of  the  Southern  States  could  well  adopt  the  honor 

system    of    working    convicts    on    the    roads,    thus    doing 

away   with   public   exhibition   of   the   disgrace   of  fellow 

human  beings. 

running  from  a  metal  belt  around  his  waist  to  iron 
rings  about  both  his  ankles,  but  carried  a  heavy  iron 
ball,  which  was  chained  to  his  wrist  on  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  he  carried  the  waterbucket.  I 
learned  upon  inquiry  that  he  was  so  treated  because 
he  was  a  confirmed  thief,  or  at  least,  as  one  guard 
put  it,  "liable  to  pilfer  anything."  Many  of  the 
prisoners  had  the  waist-to-ankle  chains,  and  all  were 
dressed  in  conspicuous  black  and  white  striped  suits 
and  caps.  Guards  with  shouldered  rifles  patrolled 
the  roadside.  At  night  these  unfortunate  beings, 
having  served  as  a  show  for  all  passers  along  the 
road  during  the  day,  were  confined  in  stout  iron- 
barred  cages  on  wheels  which  were  moved  along  as 
the  work  progressed. 

The  contrast  between  the  two  methods  of  util- 
izing convict  labor  here  described  is  overwhelming. 
Both  in  application  and  effect  they  differ  as  light 
from  darkness,  as  virtue  from  depravity. 


At  the  Grand  Canyon 

SIX  years  ago  I  visited  the  Grand  Canyon  of 
Arizona  for  the  first  time  in  a  motor  car. 
At  that  time  only  an  occasional  local  car 
from  Flagstaff  and  one  or  two  long-distance  cars 
had  ever  been  there.  There  were  no  garage  accom- 
modations and  no  gasoline  or  oil  to  be  had  there  at 
that  time.  As  I  did  not  care  to  leave  my  car  out- 
doors over  night  on  account  of  various  valuable 
instruments  of  a  scientific  character,  I  persuaded 
the  manager  of  El  Tovar  Hotel  to  arrange  for  its 
accommodation  in  the  carriage  barn. 

When  I  urged  the  manager  to  take  steps  to  pro- 
vide an  up-to-date  garage  as  motorists  were  sure  to 
come  in  ever  increasing  numbers  in  my  footsteps,  or 
rather  tire-tracks,  he  maintained  that  the  manage- 


While    ours   'was    one   of   the   first  long-distance   cars   to 

visit  the  Hopi  House  at  Grand  Canyon,  Ariz.,  it  is  now 

visited  by  literally  thousands  of  cars  yearly 


173 


174  AT  THE  GRAND  CANYON 

ment  did  not  care  for  that  kind  of  patronage,  and 
anyway  there  would  not  be  many  motorists  braving 
the  wilds  of  Arizona. 

Two  years  later  I  again  came  to  the  Grand  Can- 
yon by  motor  car,  and  what  did  I  find?  A  large 
garage  with  modern  equipment,  which  had  that 
summer  housed  over  twelve  hundred  cars.  Fur- 
thermore, a  large  extension  was  being  constructed 
to  take  care  of  the  increasing  tourist  traffic  arriving 
by  motor  car.  And  the  management  was  mighty 
glad  to  see  them  coming  too. 

Since  the  Grand  Canyon  has  been  made  a 
National  Park  and  will  be  connected  with  the 
National  Old  Trails  Road  with  a  good  highway 
swarms  of  motor  tourists  will  in  coming  years 
annually  visit  this  most  impressive  natural  scenery 
on  the  face  of  the  globe,  especially  after  some  way 
has  been  found  to  pump  water  from  the  Colorado 
River  in  the  bottom  of  the  chasm  to  the  rim,  so  that 
motor  car  campers  may  be  properly  cared  for. 


Hazing  the  Lord 

ON  ONE  of  my  many  trips  across  the  United 
States  we  were  accompanied  by  an  Eng- 
lishman who  was  much  interested  in  gather- 
ing "impressions"  of  the  United  States.  He  was  a 
quiet,  somewhat  reserved  young  gentleman  of  very 
precise  manners  and  was  by  us  promptly  called  the 
Lord,  for  short.  Out  in  Kansas  some  of  the  local 
people  played  a  few  innocent  jokes  on  him,  which 
he  took  in  the  best  manner  possible.  Among  these 
were  such  instances  as  inducing  him  to  give  a  fourth 
of  July  speech  to  a  large  audience  in  a  public  park 
of  one  of  the  towns  and  allowing  him  the  valued 
privilege  of  jerking  open  the  door  of  the  den  whence 
the  "usual"  badger  was  supposed  to  rush  out  and 
engage  in  mortal  combat  with  a  "fierce"  mongrel,  a 
rather  hackneyed  practical  joke  practised  on  tyro 
tenderfeet. 

Down  in  Arizona  he  ventured  the  remark  in  a 
conversation  with  some  local  people  that  he  had 
surely  expected  the  West  to  be  more  "woolly,"  and 
that  so  far  he  had  not  seen  a  single  one  of  the 
desperadoes,  road-agents,  gamblers  and  cut-throats 
which  he  had  read  about,  and  which  were  expected 
to  roam  about  freely  and  ply  their  trade  with 
impunity.  The  good  people  of  Arizona  were  not 
going  to  let  such  a  blot  on  their  reputation  remain, 
and  staged  a  regular  wild-west  holdup,  which  was 
successfully  pulled  off  in  the  southeast  part  of  the 
state.  In  the  most  approved  fashion  two  masked 
horsemen  rode  out  from  behind  large  boulders 
alongside  the  trail  in  a  desolate  section,  and  with 

175 


176  HAZING  THE    LORD 

leveled  "six-guns"  demanded  "your  money  or  your 
life."  Of  course  everybody  was  in  the  joke  but  the 
Lord,  so  everybody  elevated  their  hands,  and  like 
good  sports,  stood  for  having  their  loose  change 
abstracted  from  their  pockets. 

When  the  car  arrived  at  the  next  town  it  was 
met  by  a  committee,  among  whom  were  the  two 
"robbers."  At  the  hotel  bar  the  Englishman's 
money,  a  modest  sum,  was  freely  spent  on  the 
visitors  and  everybody  was  happy,  none  more  so 
than  our  foreign  guest  who  told  most  circumstan- 
tially of  the  adventure,  and  cabled  an  account  of  it 
to  London.  He  never  did  learn  the  real  facts  of 
the  case,  and  even  today  is  of  the  opinion  that  after 
all  the  west  is  some  country  for  red-blooded  expe- 
riences. 


Colorado  Mutton 

ARRIVING  at  a  Colorado  ranch  on  one  of 
my  trips,  the  owner  apologized  for  having 
nothing  in  the  house  but  mutton  to  serve 
us.  We  assured  him  that  mutton  was  certainly  all 
right,  and  that  we  had  brought  our  appetities  with 
us.  When  the  meal  was  served  I  discovered  that 
the  "mutton"  was  venison,  and  as  I  realized  that  it 
was  the  closed  season  for  shooting  deer,  I  praised 
the  mutton  and  simulated  ignorance  of  the  real 
character  of  the  food  which,  of  course,  was  just 
what  we  were  all  expected  to  do.  Not  so  our  driver, 
who  kept  insisting  that  he  had  never  tasted  such 
mutton,  and  that  it  was  the  best  he  had  ever  eaten, 
but  wanted  to  know  what  breed  of  sheep  produced 
such  juicy,  palatable  meat.  Seeing  that  he  would 
not  be  satisfied  till  he  had  the  information  safely 
tucked  away  in  his  head,  the  rancher  told  him,  with- 
out a  smile,  that  it  was  Rocky  Mountain  sheep. 
The  driver  often  spoke  of  the  delicious  mutton  pro- 
duced in  Colorado  from  their  mountain  sheep. 


177 


The  Queen  of  the  Desert 

AT  ONE  of  the  small  towns  on  the  National 
Old  Trails  Road  in  the  Mohave  Desert, 
there  lived  a  curious  character,  an  old  wo- 
man, generally  called  "Mama,  queen  of  the  desert." 
She  was  one  of  the  pioneer  "desert  rats,"  who  came 
in  with  a  prospecting  party  and  settled  in  a  small 
shanty  town  near  the  railroad.  She  opened  a  small 
store  and  looked  after  the  occasional  traveler  who 
ventured  into  or  came  back  from  the  Death  Valley 
region,  a  mythical  Eldorado,  where  gold  was  sup- 
posed to  be  plenty  as  berries  on  an  elderberry  bush, 
but  whence  most  of  the  hardy  prospectors,  who 
hazarded  the  dangers  of  the  trail  into  it,  came  back 
empty  handed  and  often  half  demented  with  the 
sufferings  endured  in  this  well-named  region.  Many 
did  not  come  back  at  all,  and  their  bleached  bones 
are  whitening  the  floor  of  this  terrible  country,  more 
than  two  hundred  feet  below  sea  level.  To  those 
who  came  back  "Mama"  was  the  good  Samaritan, 
and  in  spite  of  her  uncouth  ways  and  careless  garb 
was  to  them  a  glorified  being. 

One  night  we  arrived  at  this  little  settlement 
about  ten  o'clock,  hungry  and  weary  after  a  hot 
day's  ride  through  the  desert.  As  we  wiggled  our 
way  through  the  deep  sand  of  the  main  (and  only) 
street,  there  appeared  in  the  full  glare  of  our  head- 
lights a  woman,  barefooted  and  calico-mother- 
hubbard-dressed,  who  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the 
track  and  kept  waving  her  arms  excitedly.  This 
proved  to  be  the  "queen  of  the  desert,"  of  whom  I 
had  heard.  She  informed  us  that  we  had  better  stop 

178 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  DESERT  179 


No   indeed,  there   is   no   snoiv  on   the   ground  here,  only 

white  alkali  which  covers  the  surface  of  one  of  the  dry 

lake  beds  in  the  Mohave  Desert  in  California 

over  for  the  night,  and  that  she  could  furnish  us 
with  good  beds.  She  evidently  was  not  going  to 
let  anyone  get  by  without  at  least  being  apprised  of 
the  accommodations  available. 

Assuring  her  that  her  hospitality  was  appreciated 
and  would  be  accepted,  I  inquired  about  something 
to  eat.  To  our  disappointment  she  said  there  was 
no  chance  of  appeasing  our  hunger  until  next  day, 
when  what  she  called  "the  hash-house,"  otherwise 
the  restaurant,  opened.  I  maintained  that  would  not 
do  at  all,  and  "guessed"  I  could  find  something  to 
eat  somewhere,  aside  from  the  crackers  and  cheese 
which  she  finally  offered  us  from  the  stock  in  the 
store.  Evidently  feeling  that  she  knew  her  ground, 
she  offered  to  bet  that  I  could  not,  the  stake  being 
free  beds  or  beds  at  double  rate,  according  to  who 
should  win. 

Without  taking  up  this  sporting  proposition,  I 
approached  a  house,  from  the  window  of  which 
shone  the  only  light  apparent  in  the  town.  This 
proved  to  be  the  railroad  station  with  a  telegraph 
operator  on  duty.  Explaining  to  him  our  predica- 
ment he  handed  me  a  key  and  told  me  it  would 


180 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  DESERT 


unlock  the  third  house  down  the  street.  Here  we 
would  find  an  oil-burner  cook  stove  and  food  in  the 
pantry,  ham,  eggs,  rolls,  jam,  and  other  good  things. 
We  were  welcome  to  help  ourselves  and  he  only 
regretted  he  could  not  leave  his  post  to  come  over 
and  cook  it  for  us  in  his  batchelor  home. 

"Mama"  seemed  much  surprised  at  the  result  of 
my  foraging  expedition.  While  she  went  to  prepare 
the  beds  we  cooked  a  very  satisfying  meal  in  the 
home  of  this  true  gentleman  of  the  wide  places,  who 
had  shown  such  hospitality  to  strangers.  He 
absolutely  refused  any  recompense  for  the  food  con- 
sumed. We  could  only  pay  him  with  our  thanks. 
Next  morning  "Mama,"  like  a  true  sport,  refused 
pay  for  her  beds,  because  she  had  lost  the  wager, 
even  though  it  had  not  been  accepted  by  me.  No 
argument  could  induce  her  to  change  her  decision 
in  this  respect. 


The   Mohave   Desert    is    not,   like    the    Great   Salt   Lake 

Desert    or   Death    Falley,   merely   a   gr.eat   sandy   'waste. 

It  is  studded  with  many  'varieties  of  'vegetation,  such  as 

the  creosote  bushes  and  Yucca  cactus  shown  here 


Queen  Victoria 

WHILE  passing  through  Georgia  on  the 
Dixie  Highway,  we  put  up  at  the  only 
hotel  in  one  of  the  smaller  towns.  My 
wife  inquired  of  the  clerk  if  there  was  a  chance 
to  have  some  laundry  done  the  next  day,  which  we 
had  planned  to  spend  at  this  town.  She  was 
assured  that  it  would  be  promptly  arranged.  Early 
next  morning  the  clerk  sent  word  up  that  Queen 
Victoria  was  down  stairs  and  should  he  send  her  up. 
Having  for  the  moment  forgotten  about  the 
laundry,  and  thinking  that  this  was  supposed  to  be 
a  joke  at  my  instigation,  my  wife  said  she  would  be 
much  honored  to  have  her  majesty  grace  our  humble 
quarters  with  her  presence. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  knock  sounded  on  the  door 
and  my  wife  swung  it  wide  open.  There  stood  a 
coal-black  negro  woman  with  a  wide  grin  showing 
gleaming  white  teeth  and  the  white  of  her  eyes  shin- 
ing like  two  stars.  Clutching  her  dress,  one  on 
each  side  were  two  tiny  pickaninnies  some  four  or 
five  years  old,  curiosity  and  wonder  depicted  on  their 
curly-topped  little  black  faces.  The  woman  said 
she  was  Queen  Victoria,  the  laundress.  The  two 
kids  were  twins  and  named  Abraham  Lincoln  and 
Jefferson  Davis,  while  upon  inquiry  it  was  learned 
that  the  husband's  name  was  George  Washington. 
These  were  all  given  names,  the  family  name  being 
Munroe.  Truly  a  historic  and  distinguished  family, 
I  should  say. 


181 


Tickling  the  Carburetor 

IN  MAKING  our  way  up  a  water-bar-infested 
steep  road  in  the  Green  mountains  of  Vermont, 
we  overtook  a  small  car  which  was  bucking  its 
way  in  spasms,  leaps  and  bounds  ahead  of  us.  At 
a  place  where  the  road  curved,  I  noticed  an  old 
gentleman  at  the  steering  wheel,  while  a  woman 
was  breathlessly  running  beside  the  car,  the  hood  of 
which  was  thrown  back  on  one  side.  She  had  her 
arm  stretched  in  under  the  hood  and  had  quite  a 
task  keeping  up  with  the  erratic  pace  of  the  "horse- 
less carriage,"  anxiety  being  plainly  depicted  on  her 
face,  which  was  grimy  from  perspiration  and  lubri- 
cating grease.  Having  attained  the  top  of  the  grade 
she  sat  down  at  the  roadside  to  rest,  and  I  asked 
her  why  on  earth  she  was  doing  the  marathon  and 
acrobatics  on  such  a  hot  day  and  on  such  steep 
ground.  With  the  most  amusing  expression  of 
annoyance  on  her  face  she  said  that  she  did  not  see 
that  the  reason  was  any  of  my  business,  but  if  I 
wanted  particularly  to  know,  it  was  no  family 
secret,  and  she  was  only  "tickling"  the  carburetor. 
Later  I  saw  the  same  pair  leaving  from  the  front 
of  a  barn  which  served  as  a  garage  in  a  small  town, 
the  old  gentleman  with  a  grim  and  determined  ex- 
pression of  do  or  die  on  his  face  and  his  hands 
grasping  the  steering  wheel  like  grim  death  till  his 
knuckles  showed  white,  while  the  little  woman  was 
cranking  away  for  dear  life,  till  she  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  starting  "the  pesky  thing." 


182 


Handshaking 

THE  Pueblo  Indian  either  in  order  to  show 
his  friendliness  or  to  indicate  his  familiarity 
with  the  white  man's  ways,  I  am  not  sure 
which,  always  insists  on  shaking  hands  when  first 
meeting  a  white  person,  though  I  have  never  noticed 
him  practice  this  custom  among  his  own  people. 
Unfortunately,  a  great  many  individuals  of  various 
tribes  inhabiting  the  twenty-six  scattered  Pueblos  of 
the  Southwest  are  inflicted  with  trachoma,  a  con- 
tagious and  reputedly  incurable  eye  disease.  For 
this  reason  all  visitors  to  one  of  these  little  self- 
governing  republics  should  use  extreme  care  not  to 
indulge  in  handshaking  with  the  inhabitants  pro- 
miscuously. 

On  one  occasion  when  we  visited  one  of  the 
Pueblos  near  Santa  Fe,  the  cacique  after  vigorously 
shaking  my  gloved  hand,  went  up  to  the  car  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  my  wife,  who  had  not 
yet  had  time  to  put  on  her  gloves  when  she  saw  him 
coming.  Catching  my  eye  she  tucked  her  hands 
under  the  lap  robe  and  made  the  excuse  that  she 
had  a  bruised  finger,  a  necessary  subterfuge  in  this 
case,  as  the  man  was  nearly  blind  with  trachoma. 
Most  of  his  family  were  similarly  afflicted,  and 
they  all  wanted  to  shake  hands.  We  had  to  use 
great  care  in  our  trips,  which  extended  to  all  the 
Indian  tribes  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  and 
almost  everywhere  we  found  the  red-lidded  filmy 
eyes  which  indicate  the  presence  of  this  dangerous 
disease.  However,  by  taking  proper  precautions  in 
the  way  of  gloved  hands  and  the  use  of  disinfectants, 
the  danger  of  infection  may  be  avoided. 

183 


Prospectors 

ONE  of  the  most  interesting  characters  one 
meets  in  the  arid  regions  of  the  southwest 
is  the  prospector.  He  is  nearly  always  the 
personification  of  sunny  optimism,  especially  the 
confirmed  specimen  of  the  species.  I  have  spent 
many  a  pleasant  evening  at  the  campfire  listening 
to  the  tales  of  fortune  "almost  found"  by  some  of 
the  old  dyed-in-the-wool  roamers  of  the  desert. 

At  one  time  we  pitched  camp  at  Winter's  well 
on  the  Harquahala  Plain  between  Phoenix  and  the 
Colorado  river,  and  as  we  were  busy  about  getting 
our  supper  ready,  there  came  into  the  light  of  the 
campfire  a  diminutive  burro  laden  down  with  grub 
sacks,  picks  and  shovels.  Immediately  following 
was  an  old  man  of  three  score  and  ten  years  or 
more,  who  asked  to  share  our  fire  with  us,  as  the 
custom  is  in  remote  regions.  Being  assured  that  he 
was  welcome,  he  busied  himself  preparing  his  frugal 
meal  and  was  delighted  when  we  offered  him  some 
fruit  and  spuds,  as  potatoes  are  generally  called  in 
that  country. 

After  our  repast  and  with  the  pipes  drawing  well, 
the  atmosphere  very  naturally  called  for  tales  of  his 
wanderings,  and  he  proved  a  very  interesting  recon- 
teur.  For  more  than  forty-five  years  he  had  roamed 
the  mountain  and  desert  regions  between  Canada 
and  Mexico,  and  claimed  to  have  located  several 
fine  mines,  but  always  somebody  else  got  away  with 
the  big  fortunes  made  by  these  strikes,  while  he  only 
received  a  few  hundred  dollars.  However,  he  had 
a  strong  hunch  that  there  was  gold  at  a  certain  place 

184 


PROSPECTORS 


185 


not  far  distant  and  was  sure  that  he  would  be  able 
to  uncover  it,  and  this  time  he  would  take  care  that 
no  one  cheated  him  out  of  it.  Would  I  be  interested 
in  backing  him  in  his  search,  it  would  only  take  a 
modest  sum,  a  few  hundred  dollars?  Having  re- 
ceived manv  similar  invitations  on  other  occasions 


Northern  New  Mexico  makes  ideal  camping  ground,  pro- 
vided you  carry  enough  water  'with  you  for  your  night's 
stop.     There  is  plenty  of  wood  available  and  the  climate 
is  dry  and   bracing 

to  grub-stake  some  of  these  consistent  dreamers,  who 
had  sure  things  and  would  inevitably  locate  them 
"tomorrow,"  I  found  an  excuse  to  decline  the  flat- 
tering offer.  He  did  not  seem  the  least  dis- 
appointed at  this,  but  regaled  us  with  stories  of  dis- 
covery of  ores,  boom  camps,  the  wild  life  in  some 
of  these  and  of  hardships  of  the  trail  until  a  late 
hour.  Next  morning  he  found  his  hobbled  burro, 
snugged  his  outfit,  and  with  a  pleasant  smile  on 
his  wrinkled  old  face,  bade  us  good-bye. 


186 


PROSPECTORS 


I  have  often  wondered  if  the  reaper  perhaps  over- 
took him,  all  alone,  among  the  hills  of  the  desert, 
without  a  chance  of  human  companionship  in  his 
last  hour.  It  is  pretty  certain  that  he  would  pass 
out  still  searching  for  the  yellow  metal  which  he 
always  hoped  to  find  "tomorrow."  I  am  quite  con- 
fident that  the  anticipation  of  the  search  meant  more 
to  him  and  was  more  satisfying  than  the  realization 
of  a  find  could  possibly  be. 


Contrary  to  a  natural  expectation  the  Petrified  Forest 
of  Arizona  has  no  standing  trees.  The  beautifully 
colored,  agatized  trees  and  stumps  are  all  prostrate  on 
the  ground.  Some  of  the  trees  are  of  gigantic  proportions 


Sharp  Shooting 

PASSING  through  Wyoming  on  one  of  our 
trips  we  saw  an  unusual  number  of  coyotes 
but  luck  seemed  to  run  against  me,  either  they 
were  too  far  away  or  I  missed  them  though  I  will 
admit  I  had  on  two  occasions  a  fair  chance  of  a  good 
shot  at  them.  As  I  am  not  altogether  a  bad  shot 
with  a  rifle,  though  no  prize-winning  marksman, 
this  puzzled  me  until  I  discovered  that  the  sight 
on  my  rifle  had  been  bent  in  some  accidental  way. 
However  my  good  wife  chided  me  considerably  over 
my  poor  marksmanship  and,  though  I  appeared  to 
take  no  notice  of  it,  this  nettled  me.  After  straight- 
ening the  bent  sight,  of  which  I  made  no  mention,  I 
felt  sure  of  retrieving  my  lost  reputation. 

While  we  were  stopping  for  a  bite  of  lunch  in 
the  shade  of  a  butte,  I  discovered  not  far  away,  at 
least  within  easy  range,  the  ears  of  a  coyote  just 
showing  above  a  small  bush.  Grabbing  my  rifle  I 
fired  right  into  the  middle  of  the  bush.  As  I  saw 
no  animal  running  away  from  it  I  felt  certain 
of  having  found  the  mark.  Friend  wife  inquired 
somewhat  sarcastically,  I  thought,  what  on  earth  I 
had  shot  at  this  time.  I  invited  her  to  come  along 
and  I  would  show  her.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  boast, 
but  I  guessed  I  was  not  such  a  dub  at  shooting  after 
all.  Blythely  she  came  along,  and  on  reaching  the 
bush  there  was  mister  prairiewolf,  duly  stretched 
out  breathing  his  last,  but  imagine  my  mortifica- 
tion, upon  discovering  on  closer  examination,  only  a 
mangy  coyote  pup  with  one  foot  caught  in  a  steel 
trap.  The  poor  beast  could  not  get  away  and  was 

187 


188 


SHARP  SHOOTING 


Overlooking    "Hell's    Half    Acre,"    a    vast    hole    in    the 
volcanic  ash  deposits  on  Powder  River  in  Wyoming 

compelled  to  sit  still  while  serving  as  an  easy  target. 
While  of  course  I  was  glad  to  have  been  the  means 
of  putting  the  suffering  animal  out  of  its  misery,  I 
did  not  relish  the  laugh  my  companions  had  at  my 
expense,  especially  as  the  subject  was,  as  I  thought 
unnecessarily  and  with  undue  relish,  brought  up  for 
many  a  day  afterwards. 


A  Town 's  Disgrace 

AT  A  SMALL  town  in  one  of  the  western 
states,  which  I  shall  refrain  from  naming, 
where  we  arrived  quite  late  one  evening 
after  an  arduous  day's  battle  with  an  exceedingly 
rough  trail,  we  were  very  glad  indeed  to  find  a 
rather  fine  appearing  hotel,  though  we  were  com- 
pelled to  go  to  a  restaurant  for  our  supper  on 
account  of  the  late  hour.  After  getting  my  com- 
panions assigned  to  their  rooms  and  the  baggage 
brought  up,  I  strolled  around  the  lobby  and  adjoin- 
ing rooms  for  a  night-smoke  before  retiring. 

Hanging  on  the  wall  here  and  there,  among  heads 
of  deer,  elk,  buffalo,  mountain  lion  and  bighorn 
sheep,  I  discovered  several  pictures  of  such  an  in- 
decent and  lewd  character  that  in  utter  disgust  and 
more  than  a  little  angry,  I  remonstrated  with  the 
man  behind  the  hotel  counter  for  the  brazen  exhibi- 
tion of  such  chromos,  adding  that  I  thought  the 
town  as  a  whole  shared  with  the  proprietor  of  the 
hotel  the  responsibility  and  disgrace  by  allowing 
them  to  hang  on  the  wall  of  a  public  hostelry. 

He  leeringly  told  me  that  he  was  the  proprietor, 
and  what  was  I  going  to  do  about  it.  He  dared  me 
to  touch  them  and  "guessed"  they  would  stay  where 
they  were  as  long  as  he  wished  it,  as  he  was  the 
town  marshal  and  knew  his  six-gun.  I  told  him  I 
did  not  intend  to  take  them  down  myself,  but  that 
I  would  make  it  my  business  to  see  that  they  were 
taken  down  and  destroyed.  Next  morning  I  was 
waited  on  by  a  committee  of  town-people  and  asked 
to  forget  the  occurrence.  The  hotel  proprietor 

189 


It's  no  use  talking.    Black  gumbo,  when  wet,  will  almost 

make  a  church  deacon  swear  like  an  army  mule  skinner. 

Of  course  Weed  chains  are  indispensable 


191 

they  had  locked  in  his  room,  as  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion,  after  much  partaking  of  his  own  "snake 
poison,"  that  nothing  would  satisfy  him  that  glor- 
ious sunny  morning  but  my  blood.  Yes  sir,  only 
real  gore  would  appease  his  insulted  self-esteem. 

Telling  the  committee  that  I  would  promise  to 
make  no  mention  of  the  matter  to  the  state  author- 
ities only  on  condition  that  they,  in  my  presence, 
would  remove  the  pictures  from  the  wall  and 
destroy  them,  they  assured  me  that  such  an  act 
would  be  unlawful,  and  anyway,  the  town  marshal 
really  was  a  dead  shot,  so  they  thought  they  had 
better  not  try  it. 

When  a  few  days  later  I  arrived  at  the  state 
capital,  I  called  on  the  governor,  with  whom  I  was 
well  acquainted,  from  having  made  several  good 
roads  boosting  trips  with  him,  and  exacted  from  him 
a  direct  promise  that  the  attorney-general  would 
take  steps  to  proceed  immediately  against  the  hotel 
proprietor  for  maintaining  a  public  nuisance.  I 
learned  later  that  this  was  done  and  the  offending 
pictures  destroyed.  I  should  not  wonder  but  that 
the  hotel  man,  who  had  to  pay  a  fine  for  his  offense 
against  public  decency,  has  ever  since  had  one  eye 
trained  on  the  trail  and  his  finger  on  the  trigger. 
However,  I  have  had  no  further  occasion  to  visit 
that  corner  of  the  out-of-doors,  as  I  became  so  pre- 
judiced against  that  particular  community  that  1 
did  not  favor  establishing  a  motor  route  through  it 


Gates 

IN  Western  Texas  some  of  the  cattle  ranches  are 
of  enormous  size.     Since  the  day  of  the  arrival 
of  the  barbwire,  these  ranches  have  nearly  all 
been  fenced  and  subdivided  into  large  pastures.   The 
day  of  the  open  range  with  its  romance  extolled  in 
song  and  prose  is  past.     To  give  an  idea  of  the  size 
of  some  of  these  fenced  tracts,  it  is  sufficient  to  say 
that   one  of   them,  near   Midland,  is  one  hundred 
and  sixty-five  miles  across  in  one  direction. 

Some  of  the  main  trunk  line  routes  traverse  sev- 
eral of  these  baronial  estates  and,  as  it  of  course  is 
out  of  the  question  in  that  sparsely  settled  country 
to  incur  the  expense  of  fencing  both  sides  of  the 
road,  even  though  it  may  be  a  graded  and  culverted 
county  highway,  the  routes  are  crossed  at  frequent 


A  fair  specimen  of  one  of  the  one  hundred  and  fifty-five 

gates  to  pass  through  on  the  route  between  San  Antonio 

and  El  Paso,  Texas 

192 


GATES 


193 


intervals  by  fences  between  separate  individual 
pastures.  This  condition  necessitates  gates.  The 
gates  are  of  all  kinds  of  patterns,  from  the  primitive 
so-called  Montana  wire  gate  to  more  elaborate  con- 
traptions that  may  be  opened  from  the  driver's  seat 
by  pulling  a  handle,  depending  from  a  long  beam 
or  be  bumped  open  with  the  front  tires  of  a  motor 
car. 

On  one  of  my  trips  between  El  Paso  and  San 
Antonio,  we  passed  through  a  total  number  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty-five  gates,  but  then  the  distance 
is  over  seven  hundred  miles.  Even  then  we 
traversed  barely  one-half  of  the  width  of  this  em- 
pire of  a  commonwealth.  Of  late  years  a  new  way 
to  pass  through  a  wire  fence  by  motor  car  has  been 
devised.  This  is  called  a  cattle  guard  and  consists 
of  two  troughs,  placed  apart  a  distance  equal  to  the 
tread  of  a  motor  car.  These  troughs  are  placed 


The  Texas  method  of  passing  through  wire  fences  with- 
out the  use  of  gates.     A   most  practical  and  timesaving 
device 


194  GATES 

above  a  pit  dug  directly  on  the  line  of  the  fence  and 
a  little  to  one  side  of  the  gate,  so  as  to  leave  this 
available  for  wagon  traffic.  The  fence  is  cut  away 
entirely  where  the  pit  and  the  troughs  cross  it,  thus 
leaving  a  free  passage  for  motor  cars  crossing  the 
pit  on  the  troughs,  while  the  pit  prevents  cattle  from 
passing  from  one  pasture  to  the  other.  These  cattle 
guards  are  a  great  convenience. 


Historic  Markers 

ON  THE  National  Old  Trails  Route  there 
are  two  very  interesting  markers.     While 
here  and  there  along  the  route  where  it 
crosses  the  actual  path  of  the  famous  old  Santa  Fe 
Trail,     substantial    commemoration     stone    monu- 
ments have  been  erected  by  the  Daughters  of  the 
American  Revolution  in  connection  with  the  respec- 
tive state  authorities,  it  is  the  two  terminal  monu- 
ments which  really  are  of  special  interest. 

The  first  monument,  at  the  beginning  of  the  trail, 
is  located  at  Old  Franklin,  Missouri,  just  across  the 
Missouri  River  from  Booneville.  From  this  place 
the  first  trading  caravans  started  on  the  long  trek 
across  the  plains.  At  first  in  1812,  only  pack-mules 
were  used.  In  1822  the  first  wagons,  often  drawn 
by  twenty-four  oxen,  were  driven  over  the  trail. 
The  journey  in  these  early  days  was  exceedingly 
dangerous.  Frequent  attacks  by  hostile  Indian 
tribes  on  the  caravans,  often  resulted  in  the  mas- 
sacre of  their  entire  personnel  and  the  loss  of  the 
whole  expedition.  Finally  the  Indians  got  so  bad 
that  the  government  sent  troops  of  cavalry  along  as 
a  protection  and  established  forts  all  along  the  line. 
The  ruins  of  these  forts  and  stockades  are  still  in 
evidence  at  many  places  through  Kansas.  One  of 
the  places  where  these  Indian  attacks  most  often 
occured  was  at  the  crossing  of  Pawnee  Creek. 
Many  bloodcurdling  accounts  of  these  attacks  by 
savage  bands  have  been  recorded,  but  many  more 
are  not  part  of  recorded  history,  as  often  no  one 
remained  to  tell  the  tale. 

195 


196  HISTORIC  MARKERS 

The  old  trail  is  redolent  of  the  deeds  of  such 
pioneers  as  Kit  Carson,  Jim  Bridger,  Lucian  Max- 
well, Dick  Wooten,  and  later  Buffalo  Bill.  At 
many  places  in  southeastern  Colorado  may  to  this 
day  be  seen  the  grassgrown  trail,  over  two  hundred 
feet  wide,  with  numerous  deep  and  parallel  wagon 
tracks,  made  during  the  heyday  of  the  traffic  over 
the  route  in  the  fifties.  The  building  of  the  Santa 
Fe  railroad  in  1872  caused  the  abandonment  of  the 
trail  as  a  trading  route.  Millions  of  dollars  worth 
of  goods  was  transported  over  it  during  its  existence, 
and  it  once  reached  even  beyond  Santa  Fe,  down  to 
Chihuahua,  Mexico. 

In  the  old  plaza  at  Santa  Fe  is  the  last  and 
terminal  monument  of  this  historic  route,  marking 
its  end  at  the  old  fonda,  or  hostelry  where  the 
travelers  found  a  haven  of  rest  after  their  arduous 
journey  of  some  eleven  hundred  miles  through  a 
dangerous  country.  The  old  fonda  is  now  burned, 
and  in  the  smoke  of  the  fire  disappeared  one  of  the 
most  historic  edifices  in  the  United  States.  Across 
on  the  other  side  of  the  plaza  is  the  governors  palace, 
built  in  1608,  on  the  site  of  an  old  Pueblo  ruin. 
This  venerable  building  has  housed  Spanish,  Pueblo, 
Mexican  and  American  governors  for  three  hun- 
dred years.  Santa  Fe  is  the  second  oldest  city  in 
the  United  States,  being  antedated  by  a  few  years 
by  St.  Augustine,  Florida. 


Gentlemen  of  the  Press 

ONE  OF  the  things  that  cannot  be  avoided 
by  a  man  whose  work  is  subject  to  public 
notice  is  being  interviewed  by  reporters, 
and  of  this  I  have  naturally  had  my  full  share.  Of 
course  it  is  natural  that  local  papers  are  keen  to 
print  things  which  intimately  affect  the  affairs  of 
their  communities,  and  my  passage  through  their 
section  would  generally  be  regarded  as  live  news 
and  frequently  featured  with  display  headings,  the 
importance  of  the  "dope"  usually  varying  with  the 
size  of  the  town  in  which  the  paper  was  published. 

Generally  speaking,  I  have  found  the  gentlemen 
of  the  press  keen,  well  posted  and  educated  men, 
who  would  present  the  facts  as  related  to  them  with, 
of  course,  their  own  view  on  how  far  these  would 
have  a  bearing  on  local  affairs. 

Having  arrived  at  one  of  the  larger  cities  of  the 
southwest  a  few  years  ago  I  was,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  called  on  by  representatives  of  the  several 
local  newspapers.  After  dictating  to  them  a  state- 
ment of  the  facts  in  connection  with  my  trip  through 
their  section  of  the  country  on  that  particular  occa- 
sion, I  requested  that  care  be  used  in  quoting  me 
literally.  In  justice  to  them  I  will  say  that  this 
was  done,  but  some  of  them  could  not  refrain  from 
giving  expression  to  their  impression  of  my  per- 
sonality. Thus  one  would  describe  me  as  burned 
by.  the  desert  heat  till  my  face  was  the  color  of  an 
old  cavalry  saddle,  but  my  eyes  were  clear  and 
kindly,  besides  which  I  had  the  warm  hand  clasp 
of  a  true  friend.  These  compliments  were,  of 

197 


198 


GENTLEMEN    OF   THE    PRESS 


Upon    arriving    at    Los    Angeles,    after    surveying    three 
transcontinental    motor    routes    for    the    American    Auto- 
mobile Association  in  1912,  it  seemed  mighty  good  to  re- 
ceive a  stack  of  letters  from  friends  back  home 

course,  very  nice  and  much  appreciated.  But  to 
offset  them  another  said  that  I  was  a  highwayman 
whose  deeds  were  known  throughout  the  land,  and 
still  another  made  the  assertion  that  almost  every 
city  in  the  west  was  looking  for  me. 

Evidently  someone  had  called  the  attention  of 
the  reporter  who  called  me  a  highwayman  to  the 
possibility  of  a  double  interpretation  of  the  name 
he  had  bestowed  on  me  with  such  good  intentions. 
At  any  rate  he  referred  to  the  matter  in  a  paragraph 
the  following  day,  in  which  he  said  that,  of  course, 
everybody  knew  that  I  was  not  a  highwayman  in 
the  wrong  sense  of  that  term,  but  that  I  was  a  road 
agent. 


Bad  Intentions 

IN  SPITE  of  my  long  rambles  on  rubber  tires 
throughout  the  United  States,  very  frequently 
into  remote  regions  reputed  to  be  the  hide-outs 
of  renegades,  into  desolate  areas  only  visited  by 
nomadic  Indian  tribes  or  into  lands  where  only 
negroes  inhabit  vast  swampy  tracts,  or  sections 
where  only  Mexicans  dwell,  I  have  never  been 
molested  or  even  seen  the  sign  of  a  suspicious  desire 
to  get  unduly  acquainted  with  my  outfit  except  on 
one  solitary  occasion  and  that,  as  may  be  easily  real- 
ized by  those  who  have  roamed  the  great  out-of- 
doors,  occurred  in  a  city,  the  safe  breeding  place 
for  crimes  and  criminals. 

While  we  were  stopping  for  a  day  and  a  night  at 
a  well-known  hotel  in  one  of  the  larger  central  west 
cities,  my  wife  had  occasion  to  have  a  check  for 
several  hundred  dollars  cashed,  and  used  the  money 
that  day  in  a  business  transaction.  When  we  were 
ready  to  pull  away  from  in  front  of  the  hotel  the 
next  morning  a  young  fellow  with  the  appearance 
of  a  mechanic,  came  up  to  the  car  and  presented 
himself  as  being  the  "trouble-man"  or  road  mechanic 
from  the  factory  which  manufactured  the  particular 
car  which  I  was  using  that  season.  He  wanted  to 
know  if  the  car  was  functioning  all  right  in  every 
respect.  If  not,  he  would  be  glad  to  make  adjust- 
ments and  fix  anything  which  might  be  wrong  with 
it.  It  so  happened  that  the  car  had  been  losing 
power  and  needed  carburetor  adjustment,  and  I  told 
him  to  go  ahead  and  fix  it.  He  claimed  that  as  he 
was  going  on  to  our  next  town  anyway,  probably  he 

199 


200  BAD  INTENTIONS 

had  better  ride  over  with  us  and  thus  be  able  to 
make  the  adjustments  while  the  car  was  in  actual 
operation.  As  this  was  unquestionably  the  best  way 
to  have  the  adjustment  made,  we  managed  to  make 
room  for  him  in  the  tonneau  seat  alongside  my  wife. 

A  few  miles  out  I  invited  him  to  drive  the  car 
for  awhile  so  he  could  get  "the  feel"  of  it,  and  thus 
better  determine  the  exact  nature  of  the  trouble  to 
be  corrected  inasmuch  as,  of  course,  he  was  so  spe- 
cially well  acquainted  with  this  make  of  car.  How- 
ever, he  did  not  accept  the  invitation,  claiming  he 
could  "listen  to  the  motor"  better  if  not  at  the 
wheel.  This  aroused  my  suspicion  to  some  extent, 
especially  as  he  showed  a  lack  of  knowledge  of  the 
factory  where  the  car  was  made,  and  acquaintance 
with  the  officers  and  heads  of  departments  of  the 
organization  manufacturing  it.  My  wife's  suspicion 
was  also  aroused,  and  she  made  a  point  of  explain- 
ing to  me  in  the  hearing  of  the  stranger  just  how 
she  had  disposed  of  the  money  she  had  drawn  the 
previous  day.  Her  story,  coupled  with  my  getting 
my  rifle  unlimbered,  ostensibly  in  order  to  be  ready 
for  any  prowling  coyote,  evidently  had  the  desired 
effect,  because  when  we  reached  the  trolley  line  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  next  town  the  "mechanic"  said 
he  would  take  the  electric  car,  and  on  his  way  in  call 
at  a  certain  garage,  where  he  had  an  appointment  to 
call,  but  would  meet  us  at  Jones  &  Smith's  estab- 
lishment, the  agents  for  our  make  of  car,  and  there 
make  adjustment  on  our  carburetor,  as  parts  were 
available  there. 

As  we  expected  there  was  no  Jones  &  Smith  in 
the  town,  nor  was  our  make  of  car  handled  in  that 
community  by  anyone. 


The  Sandstorm 

IN  SEVERAL  sections  of  the  southwest,  where 
the  annual  precipitation  is  very  light  and  where 
strong  winds  have  for  ages  corroded  rocks, 
cliffs  and  veritable  mountains,  there  are  large  areas 
of  sandy  wastes.  When  an  unusually  strong  and 
protracted  gale  prevails  during  the  period  of  a  long 
drought,  the  sand  is  swept  up  by  the  strong  air  cur- 
rent and  carried  along  with  it,  sometimes  for  a  great 
many  miles.  This  phenomenon  is  what  is  called  a 
sandstorm.  At  times  these  become  more  than 
annoying,  even  positively  dangerous  as  the  sand- 
laden  air  darkens  the  sky  and  like  a  heavy  fog  makes 
objects,  only  a  short  distance  away,  invisible.  Not 
only  does  such  a  storm  fill  one's  eyes  and  throat  with 
its  gritty  particles,  but  it  will  sometimes  entirely 
obliterate  a  trail  or  a  road,  making  it  difficult  for 
one  to  trace  one's  route,  besides  making  progress  on 
rubber  tires  exceedingly  arduous,  if  not  entirely  im- 
possible. 

People  who  have  had  occasion  to  travel  between 
El  Paso  and  Alamogordo  in  New  Mexico,  or  be- 
tween Mecca  and  Brawley  in  the  Salton  Sea  basin 
of  California  during  or  after  a  sandstorm,  will  easily 
recognize  this  description.  Residents  around  River- 
side and  San  Bernardino,  California,  are  often  much 
annoyed  by  dark  sandstorms  coming  over  the  moun- 
tains from  the  Mohave  Desert,  and  so  frequently 
are  dwellers  along  the  foothills  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains in  southern  Colorado,  Utah,  Nevada,  Oregon 
and  Idaho. 

The  arid  region  of  the  Navaho  and  Hopi  Indian 

201 


202 


THE  SANDSTORM 


reservations  in  Arizona  are  especially  subject  to 
sandstorms.  The  white  sands  or  shifting  gypsum 
beds  north  of  El  Paso  are  as  unstable  as  the  drifts 
along  the  North  Carolina  coasts.  The  yellow  sand- 
beds  in  the  Imperial  Valley  of  California  along  the 
Southern  Pacific  railroad  are  continuously  encroach- 
ing on  the  railroad  track  burying  telegraph  poles, 
and  every  few  years  necessitate  the  moving  of  the 
track  further  east. 

On  one  occasion  when  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Walsenburg  on  the  way  from  Denver  to  Trinidad, 
Colorado,  we  encountered  one  of  these  storms  of  an 
unusual  severity.  Our  eyes,  nostrils  and  throats 
soon  became  so  inflamed  that  we  had  to  cover  our 
faces  with  handkerchiefs  and  stop  the  car,  awaiting 
the  abatement  of  the  gale.  When  this  occurred, 


These  tracks  of  the  pathfinder's  car  show  the  difficulty 
often  encountered  when  traversing  the  sands  of  the 
Painted  Desert  on  the  way  to  the  Hopi  Indian  pueblos  in 
Arizona.  The  winds  cause  the  formation  of  ripples  like 
tiny  waves  of  water 


THE   SANDSTORM  203 

after  a  lapse  of  a  few  hours,  our  car  was  embedded 
in  sand  to  the  hubs,  our  motor  and  inside  of  the 
tonneau  literally  covered  with  sand,  and  the  road 
entirely  obliterated.  During  the  thickest  part  of 
the  storm  it  was  impossible  to  see  a  car-length  in 
any  direction,  and  when  I  left  the  car  to  investigate 
the  condition  of  the  ground  ahead,  I  had  to  shout 
loudly  in  order  to  have  the  answering  cries  guide 
me  back,  though  I  was  not  more  than  a  hundred  feet 
away.  It  took  us  an  entire  day  to  shovel  our  way 
clear  of  the  drifted  area,  in  the  very  center  of  which 
we  occupied  a  position  like  an  island  in  an  ocean. 


Sniping  Gringoes 

DURING  the  turbulent  conditions  in  Mexico 
in  the  years  following  the  downfall  of 
President  Porfirio  Diaz,  the  iron-willed  dic- 
tator who  had  held  the  many  disturbing  elements  in 
leash  for  more  than  thirty  years,  and  brought  our 
neighboring  republic  a  measure  of  prosperity  which 
upset  its  equilibrium,  the  borders  along  Arizona, 
New  Mexico  and  Texas  were  subjected  to  raids  by 
the  marauding  bands  of  various  "revolutionary 
leaders."  These  raids  were  either  instigated  by 
bandit  chiefs  like  Villa,  for  mere  plunder,  or  by 
unscrupulous  military  or  political  chiefs  who  were 
anxious  to  bring  trouble  on  Madero  or  Carranza  by 
having  the  United  States  step  in  and  put  a  stop  to 
these  practices. 

Pershing's  campaign  in  Mexico  was  caused  by 
such  a  raid  on  Columbus,  New  Mexico,  and  occa- 
sional punitive  expeditions  were  made  by  our 
cavalry,  crossing  the  Rio  Grande  from  Texas  into 
Chihuahua  in  pursuit  of  raiders,  who  had  harrassed 
the  Texas  border,  stealing  cattle  and  occasionally 
murdering  ranchers.  At  this  time  I  was  traveling 
along  the  border  of  Texas  to  inspect  a  possible  route 
for  a  proposed  highway  paralleling  the  Rio  Grande. 

While  following  a  poor  road  between  Del  Rio 
and  Eagle  Pass,  skirting  the  river  very  closely  and 
being  flanked  on  the  north  by  a  chain  of  low  hills, 
we  heard  a  rifle  shot  across  on  the  Mexican  side  of 
the  river  but,  as  we  discovered  no  one  in  sight  among 
the  trees  on  the  other  bank,  we  did  not  concern  our- 
selves much  with  the  occurrence.  However,  in  a 

204 


SNIPING  GRINGOES  205 

few  moments  another  shot  sounded,  and  this  time 
I  heard  the  bullet  hit  a  nearby  sandbank  with  a 
thud  and  then  first  realized  that  we  were  the  targets, 
and  that  someone  was  trying  to  snipe  us.  We 
speeded  up  and  drove  away  at  our  best  clip,  pur- 
sued by  a  few  more  shots  which,  owing  to  too  great 
a  range  or  too  poor  markmanship,  failed  to  reach  us. 
On  this  trip  we  encountered  every  few  miles  one 
of  our  border  patrols  who  would  stop  us  and 
search  our  car  for  arms  and  ammunition,  as  quan- 
tities of  these  were  suspected  of  being  surreptitiously 
smuggled  across  the  border  by  innocent-appearing 
motor-car  travelers.  Further  down  the  river  we 
found  ranch  houses  being  prepared  for  trouble  by 
having  machine  guns  mounted  on  the  roofs  of  build- 
ings and  by  the  posting  of  sentries.  The  trouble  was 
not  only  with  the  Mexicans  who  crossed  the  Rio 
Grande,  but  also  to  some  extent  with  the  great  popu- 
lation of  native  Texas  Mexicans,  who  vastly  pre- 
dominate in  all  the  counties  which  border  on  the 
Rio  Grande.  These  people  are  mostly  ignorant  and 
were  easily  led  to  believe  through  insidious  propa- 
ganda, that  their  motherland  was  powerful  enough 
to  again  gather  Texas  into  its  fold  as  one  of  its 
provinces,  a  situation  which  existed  previous  to 
1836,  when  the  Mexican  province  of  Texas  revolted 
and  became  the  republic  of  Texas,  which  later,  in 
1845,  joined  the  United  States. 


The  Padre  Typographers 

A^  ST.  MICHAELS,  ARIZONA,  is  located 
a  San  Franciscan  mission,  in  charge  of  four 
padres,    attended   by   a   lay   brother.     This 
mission  has  been  established  only  a  few  years  and 
maintains  chapels  at  three  places  on  the   Navaho 
Indian  reservation.     Nearby  is  a  Catholic  Indian 
school,  maintained  by  Mother  Katharine  Dexel,  and 
attended   by   boys    and   girls    from   several   Indian 
tribes. 

Father  Berard  and  Father  Weber  of  the  mission, 
have  taken  great  pains  in  learning  the  Navaho  lan- 
guage, and  have  reduced  it  to  printed  form,  an 
enormously  difficult  task  on  account  of  the  numerous 
diphthongs  and  compound  sounds  of  the  language. 
A  person  listening  to  the  Navaho,  and  the  affiliated 
Apache  language  spoken  by  one  of  the  tribe,  would 
be  apt  to  describe  it  as  a  series  of  hisses  and  bitten- 
off  consonants  that  could  get  no  further  than  the 
teeth,  labial  sounds  being  conspicuous  by  their 
paucity. 

These  painstaking,  patient  padres  studied  the 
language  for  some  years  and  devised  special  type  to 
represent  some  of  the  otherwise  unprintable  sounds. 
By  elimination  they  finally  succeeded  in  bringing 
out  an  alphabet  which  has  only  forty  odd  letters 
and,  after  having  fonts  of  type  prepared  from  their 
own  patterns  of  those  letters  differing  from  or  be- 
ing additional  to  the  English  alphabet,  proceeded  to 
erect  their  own  printshop.  Here  were  printed  on 
hand-and-foot  power  presses  the  first  books  in  the 
206 


THE    PADRE    TYPOGRAPHERS 


207 


Navaho  tongue.     They  were  the  cathecism  and  a 


dictionary. 


These  constitute  a  real  achievement  and  a  monu- 
ment to  the  devotion  to  a  cause  by  these  men  of  the 
church.  As  their  work  had  to  be  pursued  by  means 
of  private  contributions,  their  enormous  task  was 
accomplished  in  slow  stages  and  with  the  greatest 
self-abnegation.  Among  the  most  prized  mementoes 
of  my  travels  is  a  copy  of  the  cathecism  in  Navaho, 
presented  to  me  by  the  padres  on  my  first  trip  into 
the  Navaho  country. 


Bancroft  Lit, 


The  blending   of  the  old   and  new.     The  first  transcon- 
tinental   truck,    at    the    ancient    Pecos    mission    ruins    in 
Nezv  Mexico 


Texas  The  Great 

A  A  YOUNG  man  I  lived  for  some  ten  years 
in  the  state  of  Texas.     After  leaving  the 
state    twenty-two    years    elapsed    before    I 
again  visited  the  scenes  of  my  early  youth,  and  what 
a  transformation  had  in  the  meantime  taken  place! 
I  doubt  if  any  other  state  in  the  Union  can  show  an 
equal  measure  of  growth  and  forward  strides  in  a 
steady  march  of  progress. 

In  addition  to  being  the  biggest  of  our  states  in 
point  of  area  and  cross-dimensions,  it  had  grown 
to  be  the  greatest  in  many  other  respects.  Thus  I 
found  on  the  Gulf  coast  the  greatest  business  farm 
in  the  country,  and  probably  in  the  world,  the  Taft 
Farm,  comprising  some  sixty  thousand  acres,  all  in 
cultivation  and  divided  into  units  of  about  two  hun- 
dred acres  each,  under  the  supervision  of  a  respon- 
sible manager  and  each  having  its  substantial  barn, 
manager's  dwelling  and  houses  for  the  Mexican 
laborers.  In  addition  there  are  three  good-sized 
towns  and  a  private  packing  plant  on  the  property. 
Diversified  farming  is  pursued  and  a  wonderful  herd 
of  registered  shorthorns  is  maintained.  The  prop- 
erty is  located  near  Corpus  Christi  and  was  seriously 
damaged  in  the  terrible  tropical  tornado  which  swept 
over  this  region  in  the  fall  of  1919. 

Near  Kingville  is  the  ranch  of  the  King  family. 
This  ranch  contains  about  a  million  acres  on  which 
are  some  eighty  thousand  head  of  Hereford  or 
White-face  cattle.  The  home  ranch  is  a  veritable 
mansion  of  white  marble  and  would  be  a  con- 
spicuous estate  in  the  Wheatley  Hills  of  Long 
208 


TEXAS   THE   GREAT 


209 


When  pathfinding  one  must  of  course  not  expect  smooth 
going  all  the  time 

Island,  New  York,  where  are  located  so  many  mag- 
nificent homes  of  financial  kings. 

Not  far  away  is  the  little  town  of  Falfurias. 
Here  is  located  the  hundred  thousand  acre  property 
called  the  Lasater  dairy  ranch.  The  largest  herd  of 
registered  Jersey  cattle  in  the  world  is  to  be  found 
on  this  ranch.  It  comprises  twenty-five  hundred 
registered  animals,  of  which  nine  hundred  are  milch 
cows  kept  in  dairies,  one  hundred  to  each  unit. 
Prize-winning  aristocrats  of  this  particular  breed  of 
bov.ines  are  here.  Cows  who  have  produced  an 
enormous  weight  of  butter  in  pounds  per  annum, 
bulls,  heifers  and  calves,  blue-ribboned  and  groomed 
like  race  horses. 

Down  at  Laredo,  on  the  Rio  Grande,  is  the 
largest  Bermuda  onion  farm  in  the  country,  the 
Dodd  farm.  This  comprises  over  five  hundred  acres 
devoted  exclusively  to  the  raising  of  onions. 


210  TEXAS  THE  GREAT 

At  Juno  is  located  the  Murrah  ranch  where 
seventeen  thousand  Angora  goats  are  making  their 
owner  a  fortune  each  year.  Before  the  introduction 
of  these  goats  into  that  country,  the  land  was  dear 
at  twenty-five  cents  an  acre,  as  it  was  arid  ground 
and  over-grown  by  a  species  of  cactus,  the  sutol.  It 
was  discovered  that  this  cactus,  whose  interior  fibre, 
near  the  roots,  is  like  succulent  cabbage  leaves,  is  a 
favorite  food  of  the  goats  and  the  land  values  have 
risen  to  five  dollars  an  acre  in  that  region. 

Near  Austin  are  located  the  largest  spinach  farms 
in  the  world  and  also  a  large  tract  where  mulberry 
trees  are  grown  for  the  successful  culture  of  the  silk 
worm. 

When  Texas  entered  the  Union  of  States,  in 
1845,  it  was  stipulated  that  all  public  lands  should 
remain  the  property  of  the  state  and  not,  as  in  other 
states,  become  the  domain  of  the  federal  govern- 


Our  cars  did  not  always   cross   Texas  streams  as  easily 
as  a  floating  chip.     No,  not  always 


TEXAS  THE  GREAT 


211 


Visiting  one   of  the   Texas   oilfields,  the  pathfinder's   car 
stopping  at  the  location  of  the  original  spouter 

ment.  The  proceeds  from  the  sale  of  these  millions 
of  acres  of  public  lands  have  for  years  been  devoted 
to  building  and  maintaining  the  finest  system  of 
schools  and  educational  institutions  in  the  country, 
and  this  wonderful  work  of  placing  the  means  of 
an  education  at  the  disposal  of  and  within  the  reach 
of  all  its  citizens  is  conspicuously  evidenced  by  the 
rapid  transformation  of  a  wild-and-woolly  frontier 
state  to  one  of  our  most  progressive  and  prosperous 
commonwealths. 

Texas  is  also  our  largest  cotton  producing  state, 
and  has  become  the  richest  state  of  all  in  producing 
oil  fields.  Its  cattle  industry  is  enormous,  and  even 
its  lumber  industry  is  of  vast  dimensions.  The 
state  is  dotted  with  modern  prosperous  cities  and 
is  fast  building  for  itself  a  system  of  permanent 
highways  which  will  eventually  prove  one  of  its 
most  valuable  assets. 


A  Tight  Squeeze 

THE  road  which  now  ascends  from  the  Rio 
Grande  valley  at  Socorro,  New  Mexico,  and 
comprises  part  of  the  National  Old  Trails 
Route  through  the  Blue  Canyon  up  to  Magdalena 
Plain,  is  of  comparatively  recent  construction.  The 
first  time  I  was  investigating  this  route  in  that 
locality  we  were  compelled  to  make  our  way 
through  the  narrow  and  steep  Lemitar  Canyon,  a 
few  miles  further  north.  At  the  time  we  were 
traveling  in  a  large  truck  and  found  at  several 
places  that  outjutting  portions  of  the  precipitous 
cliffs  which  formed  the  walls  of  the  canyon  would 
not  allow  for  the  passage  of  our  large  vehicle. 

At  times  we  were  able  to  remove  a  few  inches 
of  these  projections  by  the  use  of  a  pick,  and  at  other 
times  we  were  compelled  to  resort  to  the  expediency 
of  piling  rocks  near  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  where  a 
projection  occurred  in  order  to  tilt  the  top  of  the 
truck  away  from  the  obstruction  as  we  squeezed 
through  "by  the  skin  of  our  teeth."  However  at 
one  place  we  encountered  a  situation  that  called  for 
a  great  amount  of  patience  and  arduous  work.  Pro- 
jections occurred  on  the  rocky  walls  on  both  sides 
just  opposite  each  other,  and  some  ten  feet  above  the 
ground.  The  narrow  space  between  these  projec- 
tions lacked  a  whole  foot  of  allowing  us  space  to 
pass  through.  By  standing  on  the  front  fenders  and 
pecking  away  at  the  hard  granite  boulders  for  sev- 
eral hours,  working  the  pick  above  our  heads,  we 
eventually  succeeded  in  getting  through.  It  is 
212 


A   TIGHT   SQUEEZE 


213 


doubtful  if  any  of  us  will  ever  forget  the  numb 
arms  and  dizzy  heads  this  work  caused  us,  even 
though  we  worked  in  relays. 


In   past   years,   before   bridges   and   culverts   crossed   the 

arroyos    of   New    Mexico,    pathfinding    entailed    many    a 

strenuous  stunt  in  the  effort  to  attain  the  other  bank  of 

these  steep   and  generally  sandy  ravines 


APPENDIX 

The  Author  wishes  to  express  his  deep 
appreciation  of  the  generous  coopera- 
tion of  his  friends  whose  announce- 
ments appear  on  the  following  pages. 


STUDEBAKER    AUTOMOBILES 
contain  none  but  the  finest  ma- 
terials, such  as  the  best  known 
grades  of  steel,  leather,  upholstery, 
finishing  paints,  tires  and  accessories. 
Studebaker's  reputation,  maintained 
throughout  68  years  of  business  suc- 
cess, precludes  the  building  of  cheap 
cars  or  the  making  of  substitutions 
to  lower  costs. 


STUDEBAKER 

Detroit,  Mich.  South  Bend,  Ind. 

Walkerville,  Canada 

Address  all  correspondence  to  South  Bend 


Mr.  Westgard,  author  of  'Tales  of  a  Pathfinder, '  secured  62,000  miles  from  his  'NOBBY  Treads  in  1914 


^  the  success  of  any 
C.X  tour  depends 
largely  on  tires  that 
give  good  dependable 
service  right  up  to  the 
end  of  the  final  mile. 

United  States  Tires 
are  Good  Tires 

'Royal  Cord'      'Nobby'     'Chain' 
'Usco'   and    'Plain' 


THERE'S  A  TOUCH  OF  TOMORROW 
IN  ALL  COLE  DOES  TODAY 


r*HE  economy  of  the  cAero- 
A  EIGHT,  its  easy  riding  quali- 
ties, its  quick  pickup,  its  tena- 
cious road  adherence  and  general 
efficiency , in  all,may  be  attributed 
largely  to  the  perfect  balance 
created  by  its  aerotype  construc- 
tion.   The  car  rides  the  road 
with  the  same  even  keel  that 
the  aeroplane  maintains 
in  flight 


COLE  MOTOR  CAR  COMPANY 

Qreators  cfcAdvanced  <SMotor  £ars 

INDIANAPOLIS,  U.S.A. 


This  is  What  a  Skid  Does  ! 

It  actually  grinds  away  the  tire's  tread—  stretches  and  weak. 
ens  the  fabric—  causes  inevitable  punctures  and  blowouts. 
Every  time  you  skid  you  grind  off  miles  and  miles  of  tire  ser- 
vice and  no  matter  how  careful  a  driver  you  may  be,  when 
roads  are  wet  and  slippery  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  avoid 
skidding  unless  your  tires  are  equipped  with 

Weed  Anti-Skid  Chains 

For  Protection  and  Preservation 

Weed  Chains  insure  safety,  economy  and  tire  protection— 
Always  put  them  on  "At  the  First  Drop  of  Rain." 

AMERICAN  CHAIN  COMPANY,  INC. 


BRIDGEPORT 


CONNECTICUT 


Largest  Chain  Manufacturers  in  the  World 


REO 


An  Applied  Ideal 

"Every  great  enterprise  is  but  the  lengthened 
shadow  of  a  man."  CJ  Another  way  to  say  the 
same  thing  is,  "The  quality  of  any  product  truly 
reflects  the  character  of  the  men  who  make  that 
product."  €[  We  accept  that  axiom  on  behalf  of 
the  Reo  product  and  of  the  Reo  organization. 
€J  Reo  is  one  of  the  largest  concerns  in  the  motor 
car  industry.  €[  But  Reo  has  never  been  ambitious 
to  be  the  largest.  €][  Reo  never  will  contend  for 
that  doubtful  distinction.  €[  From  the  very  in- 
ception of  this  concern  it  has  been  our  ambition, 
our  purpose  and  our  policy  to  build,  not  the  most 
— but  the  best.  IJ  It  was  resolved  then  that  Reo 
never  would  build  more  motor  cars  than  we  could 
build  and  be  sure  that  every  Reo  would  be  as  good 
as  the  best  Reo  that  ever  came  from  these  plants. 
CJ  To  that  policy  we  have  always  rigidly  adhered. 
CJ  Your  approval  of  the  Reo  product — expressed  in 
the  over-demand  Reo  motor  cars  and  motor  trucks 
have  always  enjoyed — encourages  us  to  believe  that 
you  fully  approve  that  policy.  C[  Not  the  most, 
but  the  best— the  precept  crystallized  in  the  product 
— the  ideal  practically  applied.  C[  In  the  beginning 
of  this,  the  seventeenth  year  of  Reo,  we  thank  you 
most  heartily  for  your  patronage  in  the  past;  and 
we  assure  you  that,  since  the  same  executives  will 
continue  to  control  Reo,  the  same  policy  will  obtain. 

Reo  Motor  Car  Co.,  Lansing,  Michigan 


"he  Gold  Standard  of  Values" 


^»  ^^  ^^          ^^^  ^^"i^^  ^VHBI^^^ 

"tofie  Most  Beautiful  Car  in/Imerica 

Hundreds  of  sportsmen  have  learned  to  include  tlie 
Paige  motor  car  as  a  "standard  equipment"  when 
planning  their  excursions  back  to  nature. 

They  have  found  that  the  Paige  is  a  splendid  com- 
panion on  the  trail — eager  and  willing  to  travel 
wherever  there  is  traction  for  four  wheels — blessed 
with  the  stamina  that  laughs  at  hard  going. 

This  car,  they  have  concluded,  "belongs"  to  that 
select  little  company  of  tried  and  proven  thorough- 
breds. It  has  all  the  flexibility  of  a  finely  balanced 
casting  rod — the  power  of  an  express  rifle — the 
speed  of  a  Mallard — the  aggressive,  fighting  spirit  of 
a  three-pound  brook  trout. 

And  because  of  these  attributes,  the  Paige  is  trusted 
and  respected  as  a  fine  mechanical  product  the 
world  over. 

PAIGE-DETROIT  MOTOR  CAR  COMPANY 

DETROIT,  MICHIGAN 


FROM  coast  to  coast 
—wherever  men 
travel  in  motor  cars 
you  will  find  written 
in  the  familiar  pattern 
of  the  Goodyear  All 
Weather  Tread  this 
impressive  story: 

More  people  ride  on 
Goodyear  Tires  than 
on  any  other  kind. 


34,000  Miles  On  One 
Set  of  Fir^tine  Ti 


THIS  photograph  shows  Mr.  A.  L. 
Westward  in  his  car  mounted  on 
Firestone  Tires  —  the  identical   set 
which  gave  34,000  miles  of  service. 


And  such  service!  During  Mr.  West- 
gard's  "pathfinding"  work  of  the  past 
15  years  he  has  gone  through  the  most 
strenuous  and  hazardous  tests  of  road 
and  trail. 


Let  his  faith  in  Firestone  tire  building 
and  his  experience  with  Firestone  re 
sults  be  your  guide. 


STCOTT 


AUTOMOBILE  construction  becomes  every 
year  more  nearly  standardized.     But  at 
no  time  will  ideals  of  quality  become  so 
generally  practiced  but  that  the  extra  care  and 
forethought  put  into  Westcott  cars  will  show — 
in  the  form  of  longer  life  and  more  solid  satis- 
faction during  every  year  of  that  long  life! 


THE  WESTCOTT  MOTOR  CAR  COMPANY 

Springfield,  Ohio 


IN    REVIEWING 

"Through  the  Land  of  Yesterday" 

OUR    GLORIOUS    SOUTHWEST 

By  A.  L.  WESTGARD 
JOHN  <%.  EUSTIS  says: 

"Whether  one  is  a  motor  tourist  or  is  primarily  a  student  with  an  insati- 
ate appetite  for  things  historical,  archaelogical,  agricultural,  industrial  and  so 
on,  A.  L.  Westgard's  book,  "Through  the  Land  of  Yesterday,"  will  prove 
of  intrinsic  interest  and  value.  It  deals  specially  with  the  Indian  tribes  of 
our  great  Southwest,  including  not  only  those  on  the  reservations  but  also 
those  of  the  twenty-six  self-governing  republics  of  the  Pueblo  tribes. 

In  his  book  Mr.  Westgard  produces  a  rare  combination  of  practical 
advice  and  suggestions  for  the  traveler,  especially  the  motor  tourist,  with 
a  wealth  of  information  pertaining  to  a  corner  of  this  great  country  of 
which  little  is  known  by  a  majority  of  our  people. 

Detailed  within  this  book  are  accurate  and  interesting  descriptions  of 
the  houses,  customs,  language,  costumes,  food,  industries,  history,  tradi- 
tions, pagan  religion  and  sacred  ceremonies  of  all  the  tribes.  The  climate, 
physical  character  of  country,  scenery,  prehistoric  ruins,  cave-dwellings, 
gorgeous  coloring,  different  races  of  people,  desert  vegetation,  animal  life, 
living  and  petrified  forests,  mountains  and  plateaus,  fishing,  hunting  and 
camping. 

After  reading  this  book  one  need  not  be  told  that  the  author  has  had 
perhaps  an  unequalled  opportunity  to  study  and  to  learn  at  first-hand  his 
subject. 

Within  its  covers  "Through  the  Land  of  Yesterday"  contains  material 
that  to  secure  otherwise  one  would  have  to  virtually  browse  through  an 
entire  library." 


Endorsed  officially  by  the  Governors  of  Arizona  and  New   Mexico. 

Profusely  illustrated  with  halftones,  pen-and-ink  sketches  and 

maps.    Printed  on  fine  paper  and  handsomely  bound. 

PRICE  TWO  DOLLARS 

From  your  bookseller  or  direct  from 

A.  L.  WESTGARD       /       /        501  Fifth  Avenue,  NEW  YORK 


V    DISTINGUISHED      SERVICE 


k 


GAD11LAC 


GENERAL' MOTORS   CORPORATION 


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05 


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CO 


OFFICIAL 


MANUAL  OF 


MOTOR  CAR  CAMPING 


A.    L.    WESTGARD 

Field  Representative 

Published  by 

AMERICAN   AUTOMOBILE    ASSOCIATION 


Riggs  Building,          Washington,  D.  C. 
501  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York 


Contents 


Introduction 
Car  Equipment 
Camp  Equipment 
Camping  Clothes 
The  Commissary 
Selecting  the  Camp  Site 
Pitching  Camp 
The  Camp  Fire 
Camp  Sanitation 


Camp  Cooking 

Breaking  Camp 

The  Medicine  Kit 

Health   Hints  Worth  Heeding 

Things  Worth  Knowing 

Conclusion 

National  Parks 

National  Forests 

State  Game  Regulations 


ILLUSTRATED 


HANDY     POCKET    SIZE 


Price  to  Non-members  of  A.  A.  A. 
FIFTY  CENTS 


Silhouette  is  simply  a  frank  ex- 
A  pression  of  another  Jordan  ideal  —  a 
determination  to  meet  the  demand  for  a 
high-grade  car,  perfectly  balanced,  com- 
fortable, economical,  and  yet  light  in  weight, 
compact,  and  with  rare  ability  to  perform. 

After  all,  the  building  toward  an  ideal 
has  been  the  keynote  of  Jordan  popularity. 

Both  men  and  women  who  have  natural 
appreciation  for  comfort,  poise  and  atmo- 
sphere, have  found  this  Jordan  Silhouette 
irresistible  in  its  symmetry  of  line  and 
beauty  of  color. 

The  chassis,  of  finished  mechanical  ex- 
cellence, is  the  lightest  on  the  road  for  its 
wheelbase.  This  Silhouette  weighs  only 
2,800  pounds.  Its  entire  movement  is  for- 
ward. No  racking  sideway  or  continuous 
bouncing  so  conspicuous  in  the  cars  of  yes- 
terday. 

No  wonder  the  Jordan  has  found  such 
instant  favor  among  the  motor  wise. 


/JORDAN\ 


JORDAN  MOTOR  CAR  COMPANY,  Inc.,  Cleveland,  Ohi 


Do  you  want  good  roads 
Do  you  want  uniform  laws 
Do  you  want  correct 
touring  information  ? 

Your  membership  courts, 


American  Automobile 
Association 

Washington,  D.  C.,  Riggs  Building 
New  York,  501  Fifth  Avenue  at  42nd  Street 


TIRE 


Sup 


upreme 

FROM  year  to  year,  the  greater 
durability,  comfort  and  econ- 
omy of  Goodrich  Silvertown 
Cord  Tires  have  multiplied 
their  use,  and  intensified  their 
popularity. 

It  was  the  pioneer  service  of  Silver- 
towns,  the  original  cord  tires,  that 
raised  the  cord  tire  to  its  place  of 
honor. 

Patricians  in  look,  yeomen  for  work, 
Silvertowns  carry  you  to  the  su- 
preme height  of  satisfaction. 


The  Creed  of  Goodrich 

Whatever  is  right  for  a  responsible  manufacturer  to  give 
the  customer,  The  B.  F.  Goodrich  Rubber  Company  gives. 

To  do  what  is  right  is  not  a  Goodrich  policy;  it  is  The 
Goodrich  Creed  It  is  fundamental 

It  is  the  foundation  on  which  the  great  Goodrich  institu- 
toon  has  been  built. 

The  Creed  of  Goodrich  serves  you,  whether  you  buy  a 
sturdy,  dependable  Goodrich  Fabric  Tire,  or  die  tire  of 
tires,  the  Silvertown  Cord. 

The  Goodnch Adjustment  Basis:  Fabric  Tires. 
6,000   Miles.   Silvertown  Cords,  8000  Miles. 

Goodrich  Tires 


^  V  <  i^KM"  ""'  W  •     '  *' 

Speaking  of 

CONCRETE   ROADS 
STREETS  and  ALLEYS 

53,000,000  Square  Yards 

Were    Placed   Under 
Contract   During    1919 — 

More  tnan  twice  the  total  of  any  .previ- 
ous year,  and  equivalent  to  over  5,000 
miles  of  18-foot  concrete  pavement. 

Every  state — your  state — contributed  to 
tkis  wonderful  record,  ^^atcK  1920! 


States  in   WA;cA    Contracts  for  .Afore  than  30 
Miles  of  Concrete  Road  Were  Let  During  1919 


Arkansa* 

Calitoima 
Delaware 
Georgia 
Ill.no,,      . 

InJuna       - 


Maryland       . 
Ma»»achuiett» 

Mic-i,,^., 

Minnesota 


Milw 

87 

210 

55 

90 

570 

280 

69 

95 

31 

169 

79 

38 


New 


Oklahoma  . 
Oregon  .  . 
Pennsylvania 
Tcxaj 

Utah     .      .      . 
V.rjinia     .      . 
Wa.h,ngton 
W«t  Vlr<lni 
\Vnconjin     . 


.  .  87 

.  .  329 

.  .  239 

.  .  69 

.  .  42 

.  .  491 

.  .  59 

.  .  84 

.  -  91 

.  .  161 

.  .  87 

.  132 


North,  east,  south  and  west — 
CONCRETE   is   the  choice. 

PORTLAND  CEMENT  ASSOCIATION 

Ailinta  Detroit  Milwaukee  Sail  lake  CltJT 

Chicago  Helena  Minneapolis  Seattle 

l>illi»  Indianapoli*  New  York  St.  Lou u 

Denver  Kan»>Cny  Parkrnburg  Washington 

l>e>Moin*»  Lo*An|ele»  l>itt>burfh 


Your  i  ires  are  Great! 


They  stand  up  wonderfully  in  touring  and 
you  can  get  them  everywhere.  These  are 
the  reasons  why  I  always  use  Michelins!" 


MICHELIN  TIRE  CO.,  MILLTOWN,  N.  J. 


FACTORIES:  Milltown,  New  Jersey — Clermont-Ferrand,  France 
London,  England — Turin,  Italy 


